


A Mouthful of Honey

by SheriffsRevolver



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Awkward Boners, Awkward Flirting, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Exploration, Fate, First Dates, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay Daryl Dixon, Hand Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pining, Questioning, Rick cries over ducks, Rimming, Sexual Tension, True Love, Virgin Daryl Dixon, an 80's album, duck related angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-05 03:02:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 39,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13378746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheriffsRevolver/pseuds/SheriffsRevolver
Summary: Rick admits to Daryl that he can get hard just from dirty talk. Daryl doesn't believe it's possible, so Rick decides to play a game to prove him wrong. When things take a turn that neither of them expect, it's up to Rick to make things right. He decides to take Daryl on the traditional, romantic date he's always deserved. Except Daryl doesn't exactlyknowthat it's a date.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WalkingFan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WalkingFan/gifts).



> This fic may have been completely 100% inspired by the beautiful, hilarious, _wonderful_ creations that are WalkingFan's [What's to hide?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4894702/chapters/11225068) and [Call It Exploring](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7587556/chapters/17265901). I literally cannot get enough of our boys Rick and Daryl playing nasty ass games. So, this one's for you.

It was just them, just Rick and Daryl sitting side-by-side in the prison’s common room, when Rick admitted that his dick gets hard real easy. It sounds like a detail far too personal for Rick to have shared with Daryl (because even if he was his best friend, his right-hand, his brother, Daryl wasn’t the type to swap embarrassing secrets like schoolgirls at a slumber party, and he definitely wasn’t entirely comfortable talking about sex) but the atmosphere had been right, and it felt natural to say it, so Rick did, and it wasn’t until he saw Daryl’s flushed cheeks and obvious discomfort that he thought to regret it.

Dinner that night had been a feast for their small group. Their latest run had been successful. Among a mess of other things, Glenn and Maggie had found a few bottles of high-shelf whiskey and rum, and a commercial crate of instant mashed potato packets. Daryl brought back a long string of rabbits, some from the traps, some from his hunting trip. Rick’s first tomatoes were harvested; they were large and crisp, sweet with the promise of a better tomorrow. 

The mood was jovial. Even Judy was smiling more than usual as she got passed around and cooed at. The group decided unanimously to all pitch in on making dinner. Guard duty was ignored. The bustling prison was brightly lit with candles and filled with laughter, and Rick forgot they were living in the new world and not the old. The next morning, Rick was kicking himself for his carelessness, but really, it didn’t matter because the world outside their walls had been peaceful and it was worth it to get to relax, if only for a little while. 

The conversation went late into the night. They ate dinner and had seconds. The bottles were passed around. Glass after glass was poured until they were nearly drained. Beth and Maggie sang for them, but for the first time it wasn’t somber. Their voices were vivacious. They echoed off the prison walls with lyrics to old pop songs everyone knew, and after a while, as faces grew hot and heads turned fuzzy, half the room joined in, Rick included. He was stumbling through the chorus of a Bee Gee’s song with the others when his drunken head spun and he lost the next lyric. He shrugged his defeat and leaned back in his chair, a smile plastered across his face as he scanned over the room at the untroubled, radiant faces of his family, reveling in good food and good company. Just as Rick thought he couldn’t possibly be any happier, his eyes landed on Daryl, sitting on the outskirts like he always did. He had been quiet all evening, but the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth revealed he was thinking all the same things as Rick. Even though Daryl kept himself at arm’s distance, he was content to watch the others, to see them chatting and joking. To know that even in the apocalypse, life was still worth living. Daryl felt Rick watching him, and his eyes flicked over to catch him. Rick smiled brighter and raised his glass. Daryl smile grew ever so slightly, and he tipped his glass toward Rick in an imitated cheers. They both sipped their drinks, steely eyes locked on one another, until Carol’s boisterous voice pulled Daryl’s attention away.

Eventually, Glenn’s drunkenness goaded him into giving Maggie a sloppy kiss in front of everyone. The kiss was eagerly returned. Carl made barfing sounds and Beth stuck her tongue out in mock disgust. Hershel, who was painfully sober, shook his head with a laugh and excused himself to bed on the pretense of being too old for late nights. Not long after, Glenn and Maggie disappeared together, tripping over each other in their eagerness. Carol and Beth left a half an hour after that, Beth promising Rick that she’d put Judy and Carl to bed. Carl frowned (he never liked being treated like a kid) but it was Beth, so he followed her out to C-Wing without complaint. Then it was just them, just Rick and Daryl, sitting across the room from one another, both feeling the warm buzz from the drinks and the merriment. They listened to the sounds of the others turning in without a word passing between them. It wasn’t until the prison settled into nothing but distant snores that Rick stood, grabbed the remaining bottle of liquor, and crossed the room to Daryl where he split the last of it between their glasses and sat down beside him.

They fell into easy conversation. As often as Daryl played the quiet type, Rick had learned over the years that a buzz got his mouth running every time. A little push, and drunk Daryl could talk for hours, and oftentimes, on subjects he would never touch sober. Rick was the same: he was often tight-lipped about his personal life, but with a little liquor and the right company, he opened up like a book. He didn’t remember exactly how they got on the topic of Lori (he tried to avoid talking about her these days) but Daryl listened intently, even when the topic turned melancholic. It made Rick feel understood. It made him feel grounded. So he kept going on about it and Daryl kept listening. Daryl would make a comment now and then, to make Rick laugh or to console him, but mostly it was Rick carrying their conversation late into the already-late night. Then, the topic turned toward his relationship with Lori before the fall, and Daryl listened to him talk about that too, even though he had notably less to say. Daryl seemed better at talking about loss than love, but he tried to keep up, and Rick never felt so lucky to have a friend as good as Daryl. 

Rick’s glass was empty beside him and Daryl’s, still clutched in his hands, held less than a mouthful. He stared down at the amber liquid and swirled it around every so often, like he couldn’t bring himself to drink the last of it. Over the course of many hours, Rick had edged closer to Daryl, until Rick’s slouching body was pressed up against his side. When they couldn’t possibly sit any closer, Rick let his head rest on Daryl’s steady shoulder. Rick found comfort in it, and Daryl didn’t protest. If anything, the contact between them seemed natural, like Daryl found the same comfort in it as Rick. 

The candles had burned low but they flickered on, filling the room around them with a soft yellow light that cast shadows up the concrete walls. Rick’s head swam with booze. Daryl’s company made his chest feel full. He felt completely at ease, and bold, too, so he didn’t even think about it before he turned the conversation toward his sex life.

“She was the only one I’ve ever been with, you know,” he said.

Daryl hummed in the back of his throat to show Rick he was listening. It was the sort of non-response that Daryl had mastered over a lifetime.

Rick said, “I had a couple of girlfriends in high school before her. Not real girlfriends. They were those high school relationships where you say you’re dating, take ‘em out a few times, y’know? Kiss ‘em once or twice, but tell all your friends you got to second base,” he grinned, and Daryl huffed a laugh that let on he knew Rick was talking from experience. Rick said with that same broad grin, “Did that with my first girlfriend. Kelly. Got dumped for it, too.” Daryl huffed again and shook his head at him.

“Lori was the only one though. Never been with anybody else. Before all this, when we had been married for a while but before it turned sour, I remember kickin’ myself for not playing the field more before I settled down. I was never gonna divorce Lori. I was never gonna cheat. It was a til-death-do-us-part deal for me, and I always imagined—” he cleared his throat, “—I always imagined she’d outlive me.”

“You can play the field now,” Daryl said.

Rick sat up to look at him with raised eyebrows. “Oh yeah? With who? Got pretty slim pickings around here. Only two eligible candidates, and I’d like to go on without a right hook from you or Glenn.”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. “The fuck you gotta worry ‘bout me for?”

Rick rolled his eyes. “Please, we all know you and Carol got somethin’ goin’ on.”

Daryl  whipped his head around and frowned. “There ain’t nothin’. The fuck are you people talkin’ ‘bout that for? Y’all don’t know nothin’.”

“Relax, man. No one’s talkin’. If you say it’s nothing, it’s nothing. Besides, I’m not interested anyway. Truth is, I always felt like I’d cheated myself out of something by having Lori be my only. But now that she’s gone, she’s all I want. What I wouldn’t give to have her again, just for one more night.” Rick laughed, but there was a bitter edge to it. He dropped his gaze to his hands and tried to bite back the tears forming in his eyes. He didn’t want to cry. Not when his night had been so perfect.

“I’m sorry,” Daryl said. Rick shook his head wildly. It yanked back the brimming tears and just as fast as it formed, Rick’s sadness evaporated. 

“It’s alright, man. To be honest, I’m not even sure the sex was any good,” he laughed, “I have a feeling it wasn’t.”

“What makes you say that?” Daryl asked.

“Well, we didn’t do it very often. And it never seemed like Lori was into it. I always had the feeling she thought of it as a chore. Like screwing me was the same to her as cleaning the oven or something. She’d go through the motions every now and then, but the more years we were together the more plain it got. By the end it was so rare and dull, I would have almost rather done it myself.”

“Jeez,” Daryl said.

“She never put any effort in. It’s not like I was difficult. Hell, it was probably because I was so used to boring sex that I was easy to work with. Never grew out of my teenage years. I still get hard so fuckin’ easy,” Rick said with an exasperated laugh. 

Daryl’s cheeks turned ruby red. He dropped his gaze down to his drink and swirled it around again. Then, he tipped it back against his lips and swallowed the last gulp. Daryl’s reaction made Rick think he should be embarrassed about what he said, but just as the silence stretched into uncomfortable territory, Daryl asked, “What do you mean?”

Rick’s body relaxed. Daryl set his glass aside and rotated his body toward Rick.

“I mean that I get hard over nothin’. A breeze could blow the wrong way and I’ll be tentin’,” Rick joked. “Back when me and Lori had just moved in together—we were in our 20’s, everything was still good between us back then—we’d normally have sex at the end of the day, right before bed. Even then, sex was a rare thing, I only got it once a month, or every few. By then I’d stop tryin’ to initiate stuff because I’d get shot down more than not. So I took to lettin’ her come to me. The way Lori would do that is—well, we’d climb into bed, right? Like any other night. We’d lay there for a bit, and just as I’m driftin’ off, she’d roll over and tell me that she’s not tired. That’s how she’d let me know she was in the mood. ‘I’m not tired,’ she’d say. And like a damn dog, that woman had me trained to stand right up with just the words.”

Rick chuckled lowly, but Daryl didn’t laugh. He stared at Rick, bewildered. “So you can get hard just from words?” he asked. The disbelief was thick in his voice.

Rick was taken aback. “Well, yeah,” he said, “everyone can. It’s just easy for me, is all.”

Daryl shook his head. “Bullshit,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

Daryl gnawed on his lip and dropped his eyes from Rick’s. After a moment of deliberating he spit out what was hanging on his tongue. “S’bullshit. There ain’t no way I’d get hard from words. I barely get hard for nothin’.”

Rick’s eyes grew wide. “What do you mean?” he asked again.

“I mean what I said. Porn don’t really work. Imaginin’ shit in my head makes me feel dumb. Even when I go at it myself, sometimes I gotta give up ‘cause it won’t work, or it’ll go soft at random. It’s like my prick’s got a mind of it’s own.”

Rick couldn’t suppress his taunting smile. “There are pills for that, you know.”

“Shut up, man,” Daryl snapped. “It’s just the way I am. I always been this way.”

Rick snickered and shook his head. “Look at us. One guy that can’t get it up and another that can’t keep it down. I feel like there’s a joke there. Two guys walk into a bar…” 

“Shut up, man,” Daryl said, his tone lighter than before. Rick’s never-ending smile coaxed Daryl’s own smile forward. Rick studied Daryl’s face. Even though his eyes were cast downward, Daryl seemed open to the conversation, despite the content. This sort of closeness was something Rick would have never imagined experiencing with Daryl. The alcohol flowing free through his system was a catalyst, and maybe a childlike curiosity spurred things along, too. Even though Rick knew it was a terribly strange thing he was proposing, it was out of his mouth before he could find the will to stop it.

“Let’s play a game!” he said, and as it hit his ears, he knew it sounded too eager.

“A game?” Daryl asked.

“Yeah,” Rick said, his voice morphing into a whisper. “You say you can’t get hard from words, right? I wanna challenge that.” Daryl gave him a questioning look. “Listen,” Rick continued, “It’ll work like this: we’ll each take turns saying one thing each. Whoever gets hard first loses.”

Daryl narrowed his eyes. “But…” he said, “you’re gonna lose.”

Rick turned his body so that he was sitting criss-cross, same as Daryl, and so their knees were touching. He leaned in and grinned wickedly. “Awfully confident, aren’t you Dixon? What makes you so sure your honeyed words will do the trick?” Rick said, his voice thick and taunting. It turned Daryl’s face red all the way up to his ears.

“You said it was easy,” he mumbled.

“See, in this game, me being easy is all you got to bank on. But I’m gonna bet I’m better with my words than you. I’ll say whatever I gotta to get the job done. Are you that brave, Daryl? You gonna say what you gotta say?”

“Fuck off. Ain’t got nothin’ to do with bein’ brave.”

“I think it does. If you wanna prove yourself, now’s your chance. Here, I’ll start,” he said. Rick looked up to the prison ceiling as he thought. He half expected Daryl to cut him off or get up and leave once Rick fell into contemplative silence, but Daryl was still as a statue. The tension was thick between them, and Rick could feel the pressure under Daryl’s unfaltering gaze. He had to think of something good to say, but for whatever reason, he was struggling to imagine what Daryl could possibly find sexy. Rick decided it was best to start with something simple. A fantasy that anyone would like. 

Rick dropped his gaze. “I’ll start you off slow,” he said with false confidence. He gave Daryl a devilish look up through his lashes, and kept his eyes on him as he spoke, each word drawn out, deep and rich with his natural southern drawl. “You said you’re no good at using your imagination, but maybe I’ll do better. I’ll paint you a picture,” Rick said, “You’re sleeping in your cell. It’s a muggy night, so you don’t got your pants on. Just your boxers ’n’ your tank. You’re all laid back on top of the covers, arm slung over your face like you do, legs spread wide…” As Rick described the image, it sprang forth in his own consciousness. The position he was describing was one he’d seen Daryl in dozens of times, but saying the details of it out loud made it feel deeply personal, like Rick was giving voice to Daryl’s secrets. 

Daryl’s gaze had dropped away from Rick’s as soon as he began speaking. He was focused on his hands, either picking at his cuticles or biting at the nails, but Rick could tell he was hanging on his every word. There was no doubt Daryl was imagining the scene in vivid detail, same as Rick. The difference was Daryl was seeing it from his described spot on his bunk, not the third-party viewpoint Rick occupied. Daryl’s eyes flicked up to Rick’s when the pause in his speech lasted longer than natural. Rick cleared his throat and kept going, but he pulled back his sensual inflection for fear of sounding too personally invested in the scene. He had to keep his distance from this, or it would make things weird and kill any chance of getting Daryl’s dick hard.

“There’s someone at the door. They pull back the curtain and step inside,” Rick said.

“Who is it?” 

“Whoever you want. Someone at the prison, if you’d like,” Rick said with a quirked brow and a smile. His mind jumped to Carol first, but after Daryl’s earlier reaction he felt it best not to name any names. The suggestion made Daryl flush brightly, and Rick tried to ease Daryl’s discomfort by adding, “Or someone from before, if you’d prefer that. It’s a fantasy. It’s whoever you’d want it to be.” Daryl nodded, and Rick asked, “Do you have someone in mind?” Daryl blushed even brighter, chewed at his nail, and grunted in reply, which Rick decided meant ‘yes’. 

“Okay, so that special someone…they come in to your cell. You don’t notice them until they’re at the side of your bed—”

“Pft,” Daryl scoffed. 

“What?” Rick asked.

“Nobody ain’t never gonna sneak up on me. Even if I am asleep.”

Rick rolled his eyes dramatically. “Okay, fine,” he said, “You’re awake. You see them come in. You look up at them and they look back at you. And without them having to say a single word, you know exactly what they want.” Rick grinned stupidly and waggled his eyebrows to double down on the implication that ‘what they want’ is Daryl. 

“Pft. You can’t even say it serious,” Daryl said with a frown. Immediately, Rick left behind his joking tone and continued on with the utmost seriousness. 

“They want you, Daryl. You can see it on their face. They come up to your bunk. You give them room and they crawl in beside you. They put their hands all over you. They’re running their fingers over your arms, up your neck, through your hair. They’re gripping your thighs, your hips…your cock.” Rick drug out the final word of his sentence and tried to fill it with as much sex as possible. He had always loved when Lori used that word. It sounded vulgar, especially coming from someone as proper as her. Maybe Rick was proper enough to deliver it in the same so-wrong-but-so-right way that she could. He looked to Daryl’s face to gauge his reaction, but all he saw was discomfort. Rick cleared his throat awkwardly and let his voice go back to normal.

“We can—We can stop if you’d like,” he said.

Daryl was quiet for a moment. He stayed hidden behind a curtain of hair with his thumbnail in his mouth, cheeks flushed permanently red. Then, as if he hadn’t heard Rick’s proffered out, he said, “So’s it my turn?”

Rick laughed. “So it really didn’t work then? None of it?” Rick asked with a pointed glance toward Daryl’s crotch. 

Daryl shook his head, then shrugged. “Pro’ly woulda if you kept goin’,” he said, with a shy look up to Rick. When he saw Rick’s attention on the fly of his jeans he quickly dropped his clasped hands onto his folded legs to obstruct the view. “What the hell man, you can’t just stare at it like that.”

“How else am I gonna know if I’m winning?”

“If you win, I’ll let you know.”

“I just gotta take your word for it? Hell nah. You’ll be lying through your teeth. I gotta see it for myself. I can’t even see anything with those jeans on. C’mon, up,” Rick stood and held a hand out for Daryl. Daryl took it and let himself be hauled up to his feet. “Pants off,” Rick commanded. He started in on his own belt. 

“What? You fuckin’ crazy man?” Daryl said, eyes glued to Rick’s fumbling hands. 

“I’m doing it, so you gotta too. This has to be equal. Or you’re a cheater.” He pulled his belt free from its loops.

“Isn’t it cheating or something to be staring at it?”

Rick shoved his pants down his thighs and kicked them off. “What, so my mouth can’t make you hard, but my eyes can? Sounds a little backwards, if you ask me,” he said with a fiendish smirk. Daryl’s eyes went wide and he tried to splutter out a reply, but Rick cut him off. “You got underwear on?” he asked. Daryl nodded like he was on autopilot. Rick took a step towards him and pulled at the buckle of Daryl’s belt until the clasp came undone. Daryl stared at his working hands, his own arms limp at his sides, until his brain got the memo that his pants were coming off one way or another, and he shoved Rick away. “I got it man,” he said harshly. In a few swift movements, his belt was tugged free and his pants were pulled off his body. Daryl balled the jeans up, dropped back down to the floor, and placed the bunched up material over his crotch. “‘Kay, they’re off. But you can’t jus’ stare at it. I’ll tell ya if I lose, ’n’ if you don’t believe me you can ask me to prove it. Then I’ll show ya. Fine?”

Rick nodded and sat down in the same fashion: criss-cross with his bunched up jeans hiding his underwear-clad dick from Daryl’s eyes. “Same rules for you. It’s your turn.”

“Do I gotta—like—‘paint a pi’ture’ or whatever?” he asked the prison floor. 

“No,” Rick said, “Just say whatever you want.”

Daryl’s teeth tore at his bottom lip. He was quiet for what was likely only a minute, but felt like hours to Rick, who was anxiously waiting for whatever Daryl was willing to give him. As he sat there, leaning across his lap toward Daryl, listening for even the softest sound passing through his lips, Rick realized he liked having Daryl in this sort of way. His eyes raked over Daryl’s hunched body, and clung onto the sight of his pasty legs. Their soft cream color was the lightest thing in the room. The candlelight danced over their gentle curves. They were several shades lighter than the tan on his arms, and Rick imagined it was because they so rarely escaped the confines of Daryl’s jean pants. But they were out now—because Rick had asked. Daryl was always most comfortable covered up, but he stripped down for their stupid game. Daryl didn’t like talking about sex, but he would with Rick. Daryl was quiet with most anyone else, but Rick could pull conversation out of him easily, and even when he thought he pushed his friend too far, Daryl would surprise him with the depth of his trust. Rick liked having Daryl this sort of way—vulnerable—because it was a privilege awarded to no one else. This version of Daryl was just for him. 

“You ever get you dick sucked?” Daryl finally asked. 

Rick’s heart switched gears. “Yeah,” he whispered.

“Me too. Once. You know how good it feels then. Like…every part of you is being surrounded.”

Rick nodded. His mouth had gone dry. The words were going straight to the heat of his abdomen. It was different listening to Daryl talk about these things as compared to Lori, or the nameless faces in the occasional porn video he watched. There was something about Daryl’s voice—the gravel-like undercurrents, the shaky tentativeness, the innocent way his mouth formed the words, like he’d never put them together in that way before—it made Rick’s whole body heat with desire. Even worse: Rick knew that Daryl’s comment about having getting his dick sucked once before was meant as a friendly aside—not as fuel for Rick’s sexual fire. Yet the image burned through his brain. Daryl’s fingers buried in someone’s hair, his head rolled back, his jaw slack. What kind of sounds did Daryl make when he was getting head? What kind of person did that for him? What did they do to deserve having Daryl in that way?

“When’d you get your dick sucked? Before or after?” Rick asked. He had to know.

Daryl looked at him strangely. “Before,” he said. “It was a real long time ago. I was…shit, I dunno. Twenty-three?”

“Was it a girlfriend? What was she like?”

“What’s it matter? Shut up, it’s my turn. We’re talking about you gettin’ blown, not me.”

Rick clamped his mouth shut, though he was a little bitter that Daryl was unwilling to share the details of his sexual conquest. He and Shane used to talk about that sort of thing constantly, and it was never weird. It was just what guys did. How come this mystery woman got to see Daryl in the most debauched ways, yet Rick couldn’t even hear about it? 

“Well go on then,” Rick said.

Daryl stumbled through his words. He was clearly more focused on the content than the presentation, because he spoke with downcast eyes and a monotone voice that sounded more appropriate for rattling off a grocery list than explaining a sexual fantasy. Rick preferred it like that. He could see how deeply the words contrasted with their speaker and it made Rick’s heart flutter. Nobody had Daryl quite this way, Rick decided. Not even the mystery woman. She was gone or maybe even dead, and it didn’t matter anyway because Daryl was with him, pants-less in a candlelit room with flushed cheeks and filth on his lips. In this moment, Daryl belonged to Rick.

“I want ya to remember back to a blow job you’ve gotten. A real good one. Remember how it felt to be in someone’s mouth like that. And…and imagine that you’re in the prison showers…” Daryl’s voice was wobbly, but he pressed on. “You’re in the showers ’n’ you’re cleanin’ yerself up. When yer ‘bout done, you hear someone come in. You don’t look back or nothin’ ‘cause who cares? Just someone takin’ a shower, like you. You hear ‘em getting undressed. But then they come up behind ya. You turn ‘round and they wrap their arms ‘round yer middle. And then it’s the both of ya there, under the water together.”

Rick’s eyes had flittered closed as he reveled in the pleasant scene pieced together by Daryl’s words. At first, it was Lori that was holding him tight under the shower’s spray. Skin on skin, pressed up against one another like puzzle pieces. Her skin was smooth against his, and cold in that way that had become so known to him. It was comfortable and tender, and Rick felt the bitter ache of her loss rising like bile in his chest. Then Daryl’s voice dropped, his story continued, and Lori faded away. 

“They slide down to their knees in front of ya,” Daryl said, and it was him that Rick imagined. “They got their hands on yer hips.” It was Daryl’s hands, large and strong, digging meanly into Rick’s hipbones. “They lean in close ’n’ you can feel their mouth brush over yer…over…yer…” It was Daryl’s lips pressing against Rick’s hard cock, breathing hot air down his shaft, gasping raggedly, like he couldn’t wait to sink his mouth down on it. Rick felt the familiar feeling of building arousal prickling all over his body.

Daryl let out a defeated huff when he knew he couldn’t pull the next words from himself. 

Rick’s eyes opened. “Cock,” he supplied. 

“Cock,” Daryl repeated back at him, and it sounded so good, Rick was barely able to suppress the frustrated sigh that threatened to slip past his nose. 

“I thought you’d be no good at this,” Rick said lightly. 

“Did it work?” he asked. 

Rick bit the inside of his cheek nervously. He lifted up his balled up jeans to reveal his half-hard cock hiding underneath. He heard Daryl gasp quietly at the sight of it, like it’s current state genuinely surprised him.

“Not quite,” Rick said with a charming smile, “but you’re on the right track. Next time ‘round, maybe. It’s my turn.” Daryl nodded. 

Rick thought for a moment. “What kind of thing do you even like?” he asked. Daryl chewed at his nail and shrugged. Had he taken his nail out of his mouth this whole conversation? Had his blush ever faded? It was like Daryl’s whole body was screaming out in protest, but there he was anyway. Tentative, embarrassed, but playing along. All for Rick. “I won’t judge you or nothin’. I’ll just use it against you is all,” Rick said with a sly wink.

“Don’ know,” Daryl said.

“Don’t know? How can you not know? Everyone knows what they like.” said Rick. 

“Ain’t got much experience with nothin’. Like I said earlier. The thing’s got a mind of it’s own. It calls the shots. It ain’t exactly lead to a tonna opportuni’ies,” he said, “Not like a guy like me’d have a ton anyway.”

“Please. Plenty of ladies would love to take a bite out of a rough southern man like you. That body, that voice, those eyes you got…must draw ‘em like ants to honey.”

“Shut the fuck up, man,” Daryl said hard and fast.

“There’s no way you haven’t found someone to farm all that sweet honey right outta you. I bet they get one little taste and they’re already plannin’ on how to run your reserves dry.”

“I said shut up,” snapped Daryl, even firmer than before. Rick fell silent. Daryl rubbed his open palms over his face with the force to bruise. “You gotta stop saying shit like that man. Sounds fuckin’ wrong comin’ from you.”

Rick licked his lips nervously. His own growing arousal was making him ballsy. He knew that he should tone it down, that he’d been coming on to Daryl in the wrongest of ways, but instead he said, “Nothin’s off limits, remember?”

“How the fuck’d you like it if I was saying shit ‘bout how good you must taste? Sounds fuckin’ wrong, man.”

Based on the way Rick’s cock pulled more of his blood flow at Daryl’s words, Rick had to admit he’d like it a lot. If Daryl kept saying shit like that, Rick would lose this game in no time. Rick didn’t feel inclined to admit that to Daryl, though. So, he turned to conversation in another, yet equally filthy, direction.

“What is it that you’d like to taste Daryl? If you could have your tongue anywhere in the world right now, where would you put it?”

Daryl huffed out an incredulous laugh. “Probably stick it right into a nice burger. I miss Hardee’s.” 

“Hm,” Rick mused thoughtfully, “So you’d like your tongue between some buns then? I’d never’d guessed you be into that, Daryl.” Rick’s entertained smile was barely contained.

Daryl’s mouth fell open dumbly. He shook his head, tried to say something but the words were twisted all around. Rick could have probably made sense of it, if he had any care to. But Daryl’s reaction told him he’d stumbled into something golden. His ticket to win. He grinned, sin rolling through his mind and across his face.

“Yeah? You like that? You ever fantasize about burying your face in someone’s ass?” Rick asked with an arched brow. Daryl wasn’t looking down anymore. His saucer-sized eyes were locked on Rick. Daryl stared at him blankly, like he couldn’t believe what was coming out of his mouth—and Rick had to admit, it sounded obscene. Rick wanted it that way though. He wanted—no, he needed—to break down the last of Daryl’s defenses. Rick’s growing arousal pushed him along and laced every word with a sensuality he hadn’t known he possessed. 

“How do you imagine it Daryl? Are they all on all fours for you, exposed and waiting? Or are they on their back, and you’re pushing their legs up against them so they’re nearly folded in half?”

It took Daryl a second to realize Rick was waiting for an answer. “Uh—the—the second one,” he said with lowered eyes. His voice was deeper than normal. It took on a certain quality that Rick had only heard a handful of times. It sounded less like gravel under boots and more like the unsteady roar of a fast-moving river. 

“That right? Do you like it like that so you can see the faces they’ll make when your tongue gets where it’s goin’? Or ‘cause you want them to be able to look down at ya and see the bob of your head when you start in hard? Or do you just like to have ‘em at your mercy, trapped under those big ol’ hands of yours?”

Daryl’s tormented eyes darted up to Rick’s. It was Rick’s plan to make him answer again, but Daryl seemed too on edge to dare ask him to speak. Rick knew his words were working, though. Daryl’s lips were slick with spit, and his tongue kept darting out every few seconds to replenish the moisture. His eyes were wild and dark. They moved fast back and forth, like Daryl couldn’t keep up with the images forming in his head. He shifted uncomfortably, and Rick nearly let out a victory cry. He had him now.

“Well, go on then, no more time to waste, Daryl. They’re squirming for you. They need to feel you. Spread that ass apart. What to you see?” Daryl’s brow furrowed and he let out a little frustrated huff. He shifted again.

Rick’s own cock had become painfully hard. The sight of Daryl opening himself up to pleasure was making his head spin more than the booze. Daryl’s wet mouth, pink cheeks, and lidded eyes all indicated his obvious arousal. It was the hottest thing Rick had ever seen. He had done that to him: he turned Daryl on. Rick’s composed persona was slipping fast. It was a miracle he could refrain from lunging across the short distance between them to tackle Daryl to the ground. How had he never noticed the unadulterated sexual energy rolling off of this man? The broad shoulders, the rippling muscles, the tangle of unwashed hair just begging to be pulled…He was a fucking sight to see.

“You see a perfect little hole, waiting for your tongue. Isn’t that right? They need your mouth, Daryl. They’re practically shaking with desire. You gonna give them what they need?” Rick said, his voice lush with its own breathy cadence. Daryl nodded vigorously, and Rick sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of his fervency.

“You’re gonna lean in and press your tongue at their lowest point. Then you’ll lick your way up in one thick stripe. Catch your tongue on that hole, but don’t linger there, Daryl. You’ve gotta work up to it. You know how to take your time? Make ‘em shake for it?”

Daryl nodded weakly. He looked like he was falling apart at the seams. Rick could relate. This conversation was quickly turning from so-good to not-enough. He wasn’t even putting any effort to separate himself from his descriptions anymore. He imagined himself there, pinned under Daryl, begging for more, but secretly loving the way Daryl took his sweet time. Rick had never been touched there by another person. The thought of someone’s tongue lapping at his hole was mind-bending and filthy, but so fucking hot at the same time. He’d let Daryl do it. He’d beg him to. Rick would tangle his hands up in Daryl’s stringy hair and drag his head in closer until he was buried so deep he couldn’t breath. 

“Go slow. Lick ‘em up and down a few more times. Make sure you’re using plenty of spit. You want their ass to be soaking by the time you’re done with ‘em. Each time you go past that hole, push against it a little harder. Feel it give under your tongue. They need you so bad Daryl, they can’t handle it. Their legs are shaking. What are you gonna do now, honey?”

“Fuck ‘em with my tongue,” Daryl growled. It caught Rick off guard. Desire exploded through him.

The words tumbled from Rick’s mouth, “That’s right— _fuck_ , that’ll feel so good.” 

“Yeah?” Daryl said, breathless. He was rocking back and forth ever so slightly, rolling his hips against nothing at all. Did he even know what he was doing? Could he help it? Rick wanted to pull him forward and let them fall back against the concrete floor together. He wanted to give Daryl something worth rocking against. They could grind against each other until both their underwear were soaked with cum.

“Yeah. It’d feel so fuckin’ good, having your tongue like that,” Rick said, sounding just as lost. “That’d make ‘em moan. That’s what you want, right? You wanna hear ‘em say your name like that.”

“God yeah…my name.”

“Daryl,” Rick said, low and breathy.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Daryl groaned through a slack-jawed mouth, lips glistening in the candlelight. His eyes tore through Rick, and never did Rick think he could be made to feel so filthy by just a look. Daryl’s fingers dug hard into his bare thighs, like if he dared let go, they’d jump to his aching cock still hidden under his bunched up jeans. It took everything Rick had not to palm at his own cock. They were both hard now. Rick knew it, and if Daryl had any sense, he knew it too. But there was no talk of winners or losers. No indication either of them were through playing. Their eyes burned into each other intensely. Rick felt he might melt under the growing heat between them. 

“Your turn,” Rick said. He could swear he heard a disappointed whine in the back of Daryl’s throat. 

“I don’ know Rick, fuck,” Daryl said, voice sobering, “my head ain’t in the right place.”

“I think it’s in the perfect place,” Rick said.

“It ain’t.”

“What are you thinking about right now? Tell me. I wanna hear it.”

Daryl shook his head madly. Rick nodded his understanding. “That’s okay. Don’t think about it so hard. Just say whatever comes to mind. Remember, I’m real easy,” Rick said.

Daryl chewed his lip, blank eyes locked on Rick’s mouth. Rick licked his lips and grinned when he saw the way it made Daryl bite harder on his own. They were both so far gone. Rick had been testing the waters, but he was ready to take the dive. Their vibrations were singing with one another—there was no way Daryl would turn him away. Not when his whole body was aching for contact. Not when he was eye-fucking Rick like there was no person he’d rather have. Daryl would give himself over. All Rick had to do was ask. But it was Daryl’s turn, so Rick waited patiently for him to speak.

“I’m not tired,” Daryl said, in barely a whisper. Rick’s rock-hard length jumped. 

“Oh, really? There some way I can help with that, honey?” Rick crooned. Daryl’s eyes flew up to Rick’s, full of question. “Let me see,” Rick said sweetly, like he was trying to coax it out with his voice alone. Daryl shook his head, eyes filled with apprehension and guilt. “Let me see it, please,” Rick asked again.

“No,” Daryl said, voice shaking.

Rick ducked his head ever so slightly, caught Daryl’s eyes, and looked at him with purpose. “I can’t help if you won’t let me see the problem,” Rick said.

Daryl looked confused. “It ain’t somethin’ you can help with, Rick,” he said.

“It is. I can help,” he said, “Move the pants, Daryl.”

Daryl’s breath hitched. When he exhaled, it was rocky like a chariot ride with a broken wheel. Slowly, and with shaking hands, he lifted his balled up jeans off his lap—and now it was Rick’s turn to trip over his own breathing. The sight of Daryl’s cock straining against his white briefs set Rick’s heart into overdrive. It looked trapped under that thin layer, practically begging for release from its confines. Rick’s eyes locked on the wet spot of fabric clinging to the twitching head. He wanted so badly to lean over and mouth at that salty wetness, so he could taste the evidence of Daryl’s arousal. First, though, he wanted to tease Daryl a little more while he still held him captive.

“That looks like quiet a problem,” Rick said, with false casualness. He shifted closer, until their knees were almost touching. “There’s no way you can go to sleep with that.” Daryl’s whole body was shaking with anticipation. He shook his head. Rick motioned for him to set the pants to the side and Daryl did. He put his hands back where they were before, digging into the hard flesh of his thighs. Every muscle in his body was coiled tight, but it wasn’t enough to stop his trembling. Rick could tell it was taking every ounce of his willpower not to move under Rick’s steady gaze. 

“Now, how did that happen, Daryl? I thought you said words wouldn’t work for you,” Rick said. 

“They did,” he huffed. 

“So my mouth can get you hard after all, then,” he smirked, “You know, it does more that just talk. You think it can make you cum, too?” Rick licked his lips at the way Daryl’s hips twitched. 

Daryl whimpered—actually whimpered—and Rick’s eyes flew up to his face to confirm that he had actually brought that noise out of Daryl fucking Dixon. When he saw his debauched face, every inch of his body willing Rick toward him, he knew there was no state he’d rather see his best friend in—and that realization gave him a sick thrill. Now that he’d gotten a taste of this version of Daryl, he’d never be able to give it up. Sex-desperate Daryl was Rick’s new addiction.

“You’re a real mess aren’t you?” Rick said sweetly. He reached across the short distance between them and cupped Daryl’s cheek. Daryl leaned into the touch without hesitation, like he was a dry forest and Rick’s open palm was the first rain of the season. Rick ran his thumb over the heat in his cheek, down until it slid over Daryl’s top lip and caught on the bottom. He pulled at it, and Daryl’s mouth fell open easily. His breath was hot and erratic against Rick’s skin. Rick ran his thumb back and forth across the slick lip and marveled at the way Daryl’s mouth opened up more with each swipe. “You did real good,” Rick whispered. “You surprised me with that filthy mouth of yours.”

“Still lost,” Daryl said. 

Rick grinned widely and shook his head. He pulled back to toss aside his own balled up jeans. Daryl’s eyes flew down to Rick’s hardened length hiding in his dark boxer-briefs and he pushed a heavy breath through his open mouth.

“I think we’ll just have to call it a draw,” Rick said.

Daryl didn’t seem to hear him. “I did that?” he whispered. He leaned in unconsciously, like it was drawing him to it. Rick leaned in too, and the small distance between them was fractionally closed.

“I never stood a chance. Not with that voice of yours tellin’ me all the ways I wish you’d take me.”

“You want me to—to…?” Daryl looked like his brain was short-circuiting, and Rick thought maybe it was. 

“I want to make you cum, if you’ll let me.”

“Fuck—you can—you can do whatever you want, Rick. Whatever.”

“So you won’t mind if I reach over and touch your cock? Rub my hand over that bulge ’til you cum?” Daryl breathed in sharp through his nose and shook his head vigorously. “Or if I push you back onto the floor and grind against you ’til we _both_ cum?” Daryl whined and rolled his hips like he was already lost in the image of it. He shook his head again, his teeth buried too hard in his lip for words to be possible. “You won’t mind if I pull you to your feet and get those underwear down? Kneel for you, take you into my mouth, and suck you off the way you like so much? Show you how good this mouth really is?” 

“God, Rick, _please_ —”

“Please what?”

“Any of it, please. I can’t handle it anymore. Just stop talking and _do_ it.”

Rick lunged. Their lips connected and both of them heaved the same relieved sigh through their nose, grateful the barrier between them had finally crumbled. Rick tangled his fingers in Daryl’s hair to hold him in place as their mouths moved against one another with sinful desperation. Daryl’s hands slid forward from his own thighs until they were on Rick’s, digging into the skin there like he was hanging off the edge of a cliff. Rick groaned into Daryl’s mouth as their kiss picked up in fervor. Daryl matched the sentiment with a high-pitched whine and a needy roll of his hips—then he was tangling his hands in Rick’s shirt, tugging him closer and leaning back until they fell and he was laid out across the cold prison floor with Rick pinning him at every point.

Rick rolled his hips down into Daryl’s and the kiss broke so they could pant against each other’s open mouths. Daryl arched up into him and Rick bore down hard—Rick’s body was flush against Daryl’s, and every movement either of them made tore pleasure from his cock that pulsed through his whole body. 

He pulled back to look at Daryl’s face. Rick’s fingers were tangled tightly in his hair. Daryl’s pupils were blown wide and his eyes were dark with pleasure. His mouth hung open. Rick’s kiss left it wet and used in a way Rick had never seen on Daryl before. It looked positively depraved.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Rick said. His voice sounded unlike itself. He ducked his head back down and buried his face in the crook of Daryl’s neck. He breathed against him as his hips thrusted. “So fucking hot. How did I—” He rolled his hips again and Daryl moaned. His hands were raking their way through Rick’s hair.  “Fuck—how did I never notice?”

“ _Fuck_ Rick, I’ve wanted you so long,” Daryl said, hot against Rick’s ear. It froze Rick’s rutting hips and Daryl went rigid underneath him.

He pushed back against Daryl’s chest and looked into his eyes. “What?” Rick asked.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t—That’s not—” Daryl said. He squirmed underneath Rick, but for the first time, the movement wasn’t sexual. He wanted to escape. Rick eased his weight off of him, and Daryl scrambled backwards across the floor until he put feet between them. Rick stared at him dumbly. Daryl’s heaving chest and labored breathing held a new connotation when paired with the apprehensive expression. Daryl was terrified. 

“I didn’t mean that—” Daryl said with pleading eyes.

“Yes you did,” Rick retorted.

“No! I swear, it’s not like that I just—I don’t know—I thought nothing was off limits!” Daryl said. He looked heavy with shame.

“How long?” Rick said, crawling across the floor toward Daryl. His slow approach seemed to wind up Daryl’s strained body even more. As Rick neared him, he drew in on himself, tighter and tighter, until he couldn’t possibly make himself any smaller. All the while, he didn’t speak. He shook his head emphatically, a never-ending indication of ‘No, I take it back, no, you’ve got it wrong, no, it's not true, no, no, no’. Rick reached Daryl’s shaking, crumpled-up form and reached out to cup his cheek. This time Daryl flinched away from his touch, but Rick pressed harder. He got his hand against his skin, and Daryl’s breath caught in his throat.

“How long?” Rick asked again.

Daryl furrowed his brow, squeezed his eyes shut until the skin wrinkled, and pinched his thin lips even thinner. He shook his head again. Rick brought his legs around and sat criss-cross in front of Daryl. He pulled Daryl’s trembling hands into his lap and ran his calloused thumbs over the rough skin there until the trembling stopped and Daryl chanced an upward glance. Rick’s open, attentive gaze was there waiting for him. 

Rick didn’t know what he was doing. He had been making it up as he went along. He opened himself up to pleasure, let it guide the way for him—and for a little while, Daryl had done the same. But they had entered into new waters. Before, they could ride the choppy current, let it pull them under or spit them out, their bodies rolling with the unpredictable waves, but now…The waters had settled. The brewing storm had pulled back and now it was just them, just Rick and Daryl. Friends, partners…and the beginnings of something more.

“This is new to me,” Rick said, “This is new. Kinda hit me over the side of the head with it. I don’t got any kinda idea what I’m doin’. But…” he cleared his throat. “I’m not opposed to trying out whatever you want.” Rick didn’t have to say that he meant more than sex. He was willing to try whatever—hand holding, cuddling, love—he wasn’t explicit, but the promise of all that was just under the surface of Rick’s steady voice. Daryl seemed to soften at Rick’s words. His shoulders lost some of their tension. His gaze dropped and he chewed his lip. When he made no indication that he’d like to speak, Rick went on. “I’ll—I’ll say it plain. I want you, Daryl. Didn’t know it when I woke up this mornin’ but here I am. Can’t deny it, ‘cause it’s plain as day. Never wanted anyone so bad as I want you. Stop me if I’m wrong, but I got the feeling you and I are on the same page,” he paused, gave Daryl his opportunity to cut in, but Daryl kept gnawing at his lip, not looking at Rick, but listening carefully. A small smile crept onto Rick’s face. “Well then, I think we oughta do this proper. I’m taking you on a date, Mr. Daryl Dixon.” 

Daryl’s eyes shot up to Rick. He huffed out a laugh. “Yer serious?” he said.

“Deadly. This time ‘round, no games.”

“I dunno. Kinda liked the games.”

Rick grinned. “If you like games, we’ll play games. How ‘bout we try again after we’re bored with all the serious?” Daryl smiled then too, and nodded his head with unchecked enthusiasm. It made Rick’s chest swell, and he couldn’t help tug Daryl in by the collar of his shirt to press a honeyed kiss against his waiting mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After your guy's response to the last chapter, I decided to extend this fic! THANK YOU for all your wonderful comments. Your feedback really makes my day. You guys rock! :-)
> 
> Also...this accidentally turned into a songfic. I am **shameless** and I **have no regrets**. You've been warned!
> 
> The song Rick and Daryl are talking about is REO Speedwagon's [I Do' Wanna Know.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o6Z0xdp7-kU)

“You still smoking those?” Rick asked as he approached the outer wall of the prison that Daryl was sitting against. It wasn’t what Rick meant to say. When he began his search for Daryl, it was with the intention of settling the air between them. “It’s okay,” was what Rick meant. “We can forget about what happened. Things can go back to how they were.” But as soon as Rick saw Daryl, the words got tangled up and didn’t come out right.

Nobody else was outside, even though there was plenty of daylight left. Hangovers paired with the true summer day meant the prison’s productivity had slowed to a halt. Daryl hadn’t even tried to hide from the sun; he sat himself right in its persistent rays. Sweat soaked hair clung to his forehead. His clothes were dark and all-encompassing: layered leather from his feet all the way up to his neck and shoulders. Only his arms were free, and they were burned baby pink at their tops. Each puff out the corner of his mouth surrounded him in hot smoke that curled around his face so that it was flushed the same pink shade as his shoulders. Rick imagined it would be a greater comfort to lay out in the middle of the field wrapped in a down blanket than to be as Daryl was, yet of all the places he could have been, this was how Rick found him. 

Daryl glanced up at Rick and his deep frown worsened into a downright scowl. “The fuck’s it to you?” he asked. Rick knitted his eyebrows at him, but Daryl only huffed and turned his head away.

Rick said, “It’s nothin’ to me. Just been a while, is all.”

The last time Rick had seen a cigarette between those thin, tight-pressed lips, it was after Daryl had almost died. It was last winter, before they had walls, and death was narrowly avoided on the regular. The group had barely held together those months. They were a loose clump of string and it had fallen on Rick to be the wind that carried them on. When things were tough, Rick fell back on Daryl, and when things were really tough, Daryl fell back on his smokes. As long as Rick had known him, Daryl had been an occasional smoker, only ever reaching for his pack and lighter when nothing else would do. Once Judith had been born, it seemed he quit altogether, like just the smell of it on his clothes would be an affront to the fragile thing. 

Rick hadn’t seen it since that day, months ago, when a walker had grabbed Daryl firm by the back of his belt and dragged him toward disgusting, snapping jaws. Daryl hadn’t been able to swivel around enough to swing at the thing’s head, so he clawed at the ground and yelled for Rick until his voice splintered. In the end, Rick made it in time. He hadn’t even bothered with his knife. The moment he saw Daryl’s flailing body underneath rotting flesh, his revolver was out and fired. The body fell limp on top of Daryl, and Rick tore across the distance between them shouting like a madman, “Are you bit? Are you bit?” and Daryl cried back at him, “I’m fine, I’m fine, I swear I’m fine.” The body was pulled off of him. Daryl rolled his pack off his shoulders and was digging through it for his carton before Rick could even haul him up off the ground. 

Daryl sat in the grass, hair and clothes damp with a misted mixture of blood and morning air. He fumbled through the motions, lit the cigarette with shaking hands, and stared at Rick with wide, glazed-over eyes as he burned through the length of it. Rick hadn’t known what to say, so he just knelt there next to Daryl, one knee in the wet earth, eyes trained on the gun held tight in his grasp. Rick stroked its smooth surface, admired the look of it, appreciate the weight of it in his hand. He looked at that gun like it was a gift from God himself—and Daryl watched him in silence, maybe feeling the same gratitude for it that Rick did. 

Then, Daryl laughed. The sound had made Rick jump at first, but Daryl kept on, body jumping with each rumbling laugh until tears welled up in his eyes and he said incredulously, “I just almost fucking died,” like it was the funniest joke he’d ever heard. He kept on laughing, and Rick’s sad eyes only seemed to worsen the fit until he was out of breath and panting. Eventually, it died out entirely and Daryl took out another smoke. He burned through that one just as fast as the first, albeit with a much different aura about him. “Fuck, Rick…” Daryl said, like there was much more he wanted to say. But Rick didn’t reply and Daryl didn’t elaborate. He stood once he was done with his cigarette. Rick did the same, and they walked back to camp without ever speaking another word about it.

Now, seeing a cigarette in Daryl’s mouth set Rick’s stomach churning. He saw that billowing cloud, that golden ember, and he remembered that wet winter morning that Daryl sat in the grass and laughed like a broken man. Rick didn’t know how to fix it then, and time hadn’t taught him anything. He sat against the wall beside Daryl, which earned him an irritated sigh. 

“What’s up with you?” Rick asked.

“Didn’t come out here to be _bothered_ ,” Daryl snapped.

Rick frowned. “You hungover or somethin’? I didn’t think you had that much.”

“The fuck do you know, _Rick_?” Daryl spit Rick’s name like it was foul in his mouth. He launched himself up off the wall and stalked off toward the prison fence. Rick watched him go. His head turned with confusion.

Last night, Daryl had three drinks. Rick knew it was three, because he had watched him close enough to see each one poured and finished. Rick was always watching Daryl, even if he wasn’t consciously aware of it. Before last night, Rick used to think it was because of their partnership. They always had a bit of their attention on each other because they’d trained themselves into living that way. Daryl was Rick’s second pair of eyes. Their constant, unspoken communication made the difference between life and death on many occasions, but now, Rick knew there was more than just survival instinct drawing their focus to one another. Last night, everything had changed.

Daryl had opened himself up to Rick. “I’ve wanted you so long,” he said, right into Rick’s ear, each word sharp and reverberating like a love song played on an acoustic guitar. The melody had lodged itself in Rick’s brain and had been playing on repeat since he heard it. Rick promised Daryl they’d do it right—a proper date, romance, the whole nine yards—and Daryl agreed. They stood and put their pants back on, eyes flicking over to one another constantly, like they couldn’t bear to tear themselves away for more than a moment. They split up and blew out the candles until the soft glow illuminating the prison was gone, and it was just them, just Rick and Daryl, in the dark. Rick called out to him, and Daryl said, “Right here.” He kept talking, saying quiet little things like “this way,” and, “that’s it.” The sound of his voice drew Rick until his outstretched hands found Daryl’s solid form. His fingers splayed themselves out across that heat (was it his chest? His arm?) and Rick wondered how Daryl didn’t give off light of his own—a fire that hot should burn bright enough to illuminate the whole room. Rick felt a hand fumbling for him. It found the fabric of his shirt. Rick was guided forward, and he braced himself for a kiss, but it never came. Instead, that heated body wrapped it’s way around his middle and held him tight, and his own arms slid over those broad shoulders and held back. One of his hands slid up to rake through the soft hairs at the base of that neck. The hands that held him fisted into his shirt like Rick would slip away—like he would dare end something so right. They stayed that way, wrapped up in each other, until Daryl finally said, “Goodnight, Rick,” and Rick said back, “Goodnight, honey.” And standing there, buried in Daryl, their voices soft and full of awe at one another, the endearment sounded perfectly placed. Reluctantly, they parted. Daryl lead the way back to the cell block, Rick following him close behind, until he reached his cell. Daryl gave him a small smile and Rick smiled broadly back at him. Then Daryl turned and left, Rick ducked past the curtain into his cell, and just like that, it was over. 

The next morning, Rick woke with a grin plastered on his face. As the events of the night before came flooding back to his freshly-conscious mind, his smile grew. By the time he was up, showered, and dressed, he was bounding with nervous anticipation at the prospect of seeing Daryl again. The possibilities were overflowing. The time spent getting ready was overwhelmed by Rick thinking of date ideas—and before he knew it, he wasn’t just planning a first date for him and Daryl, but a second and a third date, too. He imagined things they’d do and conversations they’d have. He thought about kissing Daryl again in a whole number of settings, and couldn’t pick his favorite no matter how many times he went though the list. But by the time he made it out into the common area and saw Daryl, the others were up and Rick couldn’t seem to pull his attention. 

“Hey guys,” Rick said, an obvious skip in his step as he walked in. All of their eyes turned up to look at him. All except Daryl’s, which stayed focused on the piece of paper in his hand. 

“Ugh,” Maggie groaned from her spot at the main table. Her face was propped up on her hand and her hair frizzed out around her in all directions. “What’s gotten into you? Could you tone it down a bit for the rest of us?”

Carol smiled warmly at him. “You look like you’re in a good mood,” she said.

“The best,” said Rick. He glanced over to catch Daryl’s eye, but he had fallen into conversation with Glenn. He pointed at the paper in various spots and spoke in a hushed tone. Glenn nodded his assent at each pause in Daryl’s murmured drawl. Rick headed over to them and stopped in front of the crumpled list that Daryl held between them. 

“What’s this?” he asked.

Daryl didn’t answer. He didn’t even look up. He just pulled the paper closer to himself and studied it, muttering under his breath like he was lost in thought. Glenn gave Daryl a strange look once he realized he wasn’t planning on answering Rick, and said on his behalf, “Daryl’s getting a list together for a run tomorrow. He and I are gonna head out first thing.”

“That so?” Rick said with a curious smile. “What’s on that list?” He grabbed it out of Daryl’s hand and scanned his eyes over the page.

“The fuck’s the matter with you?” Daryl spit. He ripped the list away from Rick. “It’s all the normal shit, Rick! Don’t go snatching shit outta people’s hand!” And he barreled past him, catching his shoulder on the way. Rick watched as Daryl slammed through the main door heading out to the yard. It fell closed behind him and Rick’s surprised eyes broke away to scan the room for answers on the other’s faces. They all look just as taken aback as Rick, everyone but Carol. 

“Don’t take it personal,” she said, “He’s been in a mood this morning.”

“It’s probably ‘cause of last night,” Maggie said, the skin of her cheek scrunching up into her eye from the weight of her head on her hand. Rick looked around the room. Half of them looked just as exhausted as her.

“It’s been a while since any of us have had a drink,” Glenn said seriously. 

Rick nodded like the explanation satisfied him, but really it made his gut sink through his abdomen to the floor. His excitement turned to fear that prickled over his skin and made him squirm under the weight of it. He didn’t know how to deal with this. Rick had left Daryl last night happier than he had ever seen him—they were both humming with the same enchanted energy. They agreed on things. They kissed, they hugged, and they parted ways. What had happened between then and now for Daryl’s mood to swing from one extreme to the other?

Last night, Daryl walked away and Rick headed into his cell. Rick pushed back the curtain and stepped into that small space which seemed cold and somber after the night he had. He had half a mind to turn back out, find Daryl in his cell buried under blankets and pillows, and settle there for the night, nestled in close against that firm body as it held him just a few minutes ago. Rick shook his head at himself as he stripped out of his day clothes. Without the appropriate amount of distance, this thing would tank before it got off the ground. The last thing Rick wanted to do was move too fast and frighten Daryl off. Besides, Rick said they’d do this right. That meant taking his new love interest out on a date before climbing into bed with him. Rick smiled as he pulled a fresh shirt over his head. He had a real date to plan—and what an exciting prospect that was—a real piece of old-world nostalgia. 

Lori always said Rick was a romantic ever since he showed up at her door to serenade her with an out-of-tune guitar and a song scribbled across a piece of notebook paper. She said if he was willing to go to such lengths (and would even embarrass himself along the way) to woo a girl, then he could be nothing less than a through-and-through Romeo. Rick was already vibrating with gleeful expectancy at the prospect of getting to surprise Daryl in those ways. If anyone deserved to be properly courted, it was a sweet thing like Daryl.

He’d get to see a whole new side of Daryl—maybe a side nobody has seen before. 

That night, Daryl had stripped for Rick, literally and metaphorically. Rick smiled at him, said some things he ought’ve swallowed, and it made Daryl blush. He hadn’t shied away from it like Rick expected him to. Instead he said those words, so perfect and full, “I’ve wanted you so long,” and _fuck_ if that didn’t make Rick’s chest ache. He hadn’t known that he’d wanted Daryl too, not until he heard him playing that filthy game, bashful and pink, like he couldn’t believe the things coming out of his mouth. Rick hadn’t known how deep the roots reached—they’d had so much time to grow. He hadn’t felt their hardness coiling around every part of him, inside and out. But now, the blooms opened up, vibrant and loud, unable to be ignored, and Rick could see how sturdy it really was. 

“I’ve wanted you so long,” Rick said softly to the empty cell. He should have said it to Daryl, but he hadn’t known. He hadn’t, not until Daryl’s mouth was open against his, body pinned under Rick’s rutting hips, hands clutching him like he was the breath in his lungs. At the time, Daryl’s words caught Rick off guard, but they shouldn’t have, because they were the _perfect_ words; Rick just hadn’t known yet. So he said it to the room again, “I’ve wanted you so long,” and rolled his hips up, like it could undo his mistake. Rick sighed through his nose and said it again, and again, and it became a chant low in his throat. His hips rocked up against nothing in time with the words. The heat in his abdomen grew steadily as his brain raced through its favorite images, sounds, and feelings from that night. When the need became too great, Rick turned over and used the mattress to rock his hips against and _god,_ that felt good. He imagined it was Daryl under him—heat and strength and desire instead of cold sheets and stiff springs—and he thrusted until the words were broken up with moans and breathy pleas, “Daryl, please, Daryl, don’t stop, Daryl, I need you, _I’ve wanted you for so long, for so very long_ ,” and when he came the world went white with bliss. 

Rick woke up the next morning plastered to his briefs and his sheet, which was messy but not unpleasant, considering how he ended up in that state. Daryl must have had a very different sort of night than Rick though, because he was grumpy when Rick first saw him in the common room (though grumpy was to put it favorably) and his sour disposition didn’t lessen throughout the day. First, Rick gave him the benefit of the doubt, but as the day stretched on, his optimism faded. 

Daryl ran around doing an endless number of tasks. Every time Rick tried to speak to him he’d bark, “Not now, Rick,” and run off to start something else. Nobody else was working, not even Rick. It was a muggy day, they were tired and headachy, and there was nothing pressing enough to force them out of their waking hibernation. Daryl, however, was impervious to the mood surrounding the prison. He checked the traps and set new ones. He cleaned his bow and made new arrows. He cooked breakfast, and lunch, and did the dishes afterwards. Rick tried to help him on many occasions, but Daryl said he was getting in the way. So, Rick stopped trying. He kept his distance and the only interaction between them thereafter was Daryl’s angry, squinted eyes jumping across rooms to tear at Rick’s faint heart.

By three o’clock, Rick gave in. He couldn’t handle the distance between them, especially not after he’d had a taste of close. Every cold stare that Daryl sent his way left Rick sick and shaking. Daryl’s bitter voice cut him like whittled ice. It made his ears bleed. The blizzard would kill him if it lasted any longer, and so Rick decided to cut his losses. Clearly, something he had done set Daryl off, and nothing would be right again until Rick made it so. He didn’t know what had changed in Daryl overnight. He didn’t want to know. All he could do was accept that things _had_ changed, and move on. 

Rick planned out what he’d say. He’d track down Daryl, walk right up to him and say, “It’s okay. We can forget about what happened. Things can go back to how they were.” Daryl would let the tension out of his shoulders and Rick would too. Daryl would nod and Rick would mimic him. Last night would become an untouchable memory, like that wet day last winter when Daryl sat in the grass and laughed at Rick’s emotion-plagued face. And seeing Daryl sitting there against the prison wall smoking that cigarette should have solidified Rick’s decision, but it only made his stomach churn with guilt. “I hear you through that cigarette. You’re hurting. Tell me how to fix it, and I will,” Rick wanted to say. Instead, what came out was, “You still smoking those?”

Rick rubbed his hands over his face. His fingertips dug into his closed eyes until his vision became colored. He breathed slowly, through the break between his palms. It was meant to steady his shaking body, but time passed, and Rick realized it couldn’t be helped. He’d tremble on and on, so long as Daryl’s winter kept raging.

He looked up at Daryl, across the field with a crowbar in hand. He was taking out walkers with frightening accuracy and speed. The pile at his feet on the other side of the fence grew higher with each brutal thrust of his arms. 

Rick pushed himself up off the ground and straightened out his clothes. Legs carried Rick across the distance between them mindlessly. Even when he was wound tight with anxiety, Daryl’s presence called to him. Every cell in Rick’s body needed that distance closed. 

Rick made his way through the inner gate and into the walker-poking ring. He chained the gate shut behind him with eyes locked on Daryl, though the look wasn’t returned. Daryl stayed focused on the dead, wrenching his crowbar back and forth through the fence’s holes with increasing intensity. Rick wandered his way, got as close as he could get without risk of getting caught in Daryl’s swing. He stood there and watched him, and Daryl pretended Rick wasn’t there at all. Then, he wound his fingers through the gate and instantly, Daryl’s flaming eyes flew over to him.

“Get yer fuckin’ hand outta there!” Daryl said. He grabbed Rick’s hand and ripped it free of it’s loose grip on the fence. “You _tryin’_ to get bit? The fuck’s the matter with you? One of these motherfuckers gonna chomp off a finger. You ain’t even got a weapon. Go get yourself a goddamn weapon, Rick. This whole fuckin’ fence could come down at any minute! _Jesus fuck._ ” Then he pushed him toward the gate where the weapons were hung and went back to work taking out heads.

Rick stumbled backwards a few feet, then turned and made his way toward the gate. He picked out a iron fire-poker with a pronged tip and returned to Daryl’s side with it in hand. It hung useless in his delicate hold. He stood further back from the fence, outside of what Daryl’s peripheral vision could reach, and watched Daryl. 

Since they’d met, Daryl seemed to sooth to Rick’s gentle guidance. Whenever Daryl had been set off, Rick would use his sheriff voice, reassuring yet authoritative, and though it so rarely worked on criminal types, it could settle Daryl in his worst bouts of anger. Rick hadn’t used that voice with Daryl a long time—it felt like a cheap trick to use it against his partner. But Daryl’s anger was an icy waterfall, and without a dam to break up the flow, it would thunder on forever. 

“It’s real hot outside, Daryl,” Rick said, “Why don’t you put the crowbar down, and we’ll head on in, okay?” He sounded very much like a sheriff. Daryl whipped his head around violently to glare at him. 

“How ‘bout you go _fuck_ yourself. I’ll be stayin’ right here, takin’ orders from nobody,” said Daryl. He stabbed another walker in the eye and the body dropped like a rock. 

“You’re sweating up a storm. How about you—” 

Daryl cut him off. “How ‘bout _you_ go. You ain’t helpin’ none,” he said.

Rick took two quick steps forward. “Daryl—” he said. He grabbed his shoulder and swiveled his body around. Daryl leapt out from under his hand and scrambled backwards.

“No!” he shouted, crowbar pointed at Rick. His back was nearly against the fence, but Daryl didn’t seem to care. He swayed on his feet; his fingers opened and tightened around the bar in his hands. “ _Don’t_ fucking touch me,” he said to the part of Rick’s chest that housed his heart. His raised weapon echoed the command. Rick wondered if Daryl’s goal was to carve the hammering muscle right out of him. If Daryl was worried that the words wouldn’t be enough to get the job done, he was sorely mistaken. Rick’s chest was splayed open and raw. Another decaying body to add to the piles.

Rick dropped his fire-poker into the dirt and raised his opened palms robotically. “I won’t ever touch you again,” he said with blank eyes and a monotone voice. Daryl furrowed his brow and licked his lips. His posture relaxed and eventually, his weapon lowered. Daryl’s anger abated.

He said, “Sorry.” 

Then, Rick said what he’d practiced. “It’s okay. We can forget about what happened. Things can go back to how they were.” It was devoid of feeling, but how could Rick have said it any different when Daryl had crushed his heart in his fist? Rick didn’t have to explain the depth of his statement. Daryl heard it in the undercurrents: we won’t try. We’ll forget. We’re just friends. And Rick didn’t think there was anything left of him to break, but when Daryl’s eyes flicked up to his and he nodded, hard and sure, Rick’s body gave under the pressure. He had been laid thin. Run over by Daryl Dixon and left to die.

 

That was meant to be the end of it. Things went back to normal after that. The only exception: Rick was careful not to touch Daryl in any sort of way. Daryl’s anger had thawed out completely by the next morning. He went on his run with Glenn. When they got back, Rick came out to meet them at the gate with the others, and Daryl smiled at him—a tight, guarded smile, but it was genuine, nonetheless. He climbed out of the car and headed straight for Rick.

“It went good,” he said, “Picked up everything we needed. ’N’ I got this for you.” He swung his bag off his shoulder and unzipped the main pocket. He dug through its contents and produced a six pack of bar soap. It was Rick’s favorite brand. It was a nice brand, and very hard to come by. He didn’t even know they came in packs. Rick grinned and took it happily. 

“How’d you find this?” he asked. Daryl’s smile inched up toward his eyes.

“The owner of one of the houses we hit was a fancy fuck like you.” He pushed his bag into Rick’s arms and said, “Help us unload, will ya?” Rick shouldered the bag and followed Daryl. His stomach fluttered. The soap felt warm where it sat in the crook of his arm. 

At the time, Rick felt relieved that things were back to normal. Except normal things suddenly held new meaning for Rick. Daryl wasn’t doing anything differently, but Rick’s perception had distorted. Daryl would bring him water while he was out tilling the garden’s fields, and Rick’s heart would hammer and his cheeks would flush because Daryl had thought of him. They’d all sit down for dinner and Daryl would choose the spot next to Rick, like he always had, but now it filled Rick with a strange sense of pride because Daryl wanted to be close to him. Whenever Rick made an announcement to the group, Daryl would listen intently and do whatever Rick needed, and Rick didn’t see it as compliance—no, it was devotion. Everything Daryl did, Rick’s lovesick head would read into, until it became “something more.” He could tell it was happening, but no matter how much he chastised himself for it, he couldn’t stop. The fantasy he lived in, the one where Daryl secretly _did_ want him, was so much better than the heartbreaking reality. So, time went on. Rick didn’t get over his new interest in Daryl, he just learned to live with it. Eventually, enough distance was put between Rick and that night with Daryl, Rick began to wonder if it had been a dream. But, every so often, Daryl would do something that would remind Rick it was real. 

A little over a week later, Carol sent Rick to track down Daryl and let him know food was ready. He found Daryl in his cell, laying in his bunk with his face toward the wall. Rick knocked a knuckle on the bars to signal his presence, but Daryl didn’t move. 

“Hey,” Rick said, “You sleeping?” Still, Daryl didn’t move. Rick walked into the cell. Once he was beside Daryl, he noticed the black earbuds barely showing through his mess of hair. They were corded, and when Rick traced the line back, it lead to a flower-print walkman tucked under Daryl’s arm. An elated grin overtook Rick’s face. He dropped to his knees beside Daryl’s bed and snatched one of the buds out of Daryl’s ear. Daryl leapt like a startled cat. It was a wonder that Rick was able to avoid the backwards swing Daryl threw in his direction.

“What’re you listening to?” Rick asked cheerily. He popped the earbud in and heard the fast notes of a pop-rock song. 

“What the fuck, man?!” Daryl said, ripping the earbud free from Rick. “You can’t sneak up on someone like that! I coulda took your head off.”

Rick reached over Daryl’s twisted body for the walkman. He laughed as Daryl squirmed to keep it away from him. “You said I wouldn’t be able to sneak up on you. Guess I’m sneakier than you thought.” Daryl flushed, because that wasn’t what he had said. Daryl never specified who he was imagining in the scene Rick first described to him that night. Rick had inserted himself there in his own imagination. Rick’s accidental admission made him blush too, and he quickly said, “Is that what I think it is? I haven’t seen one in ages!” He pulled the walkman out from under Daryl’s body. Once he had it, he fell back on the floor and scooted backwards out of Daryl’s reach.

Rick put one of the earbuds back in just in time to hear the song’s chorus.The heavy rock beat and distinct, raspy voice of the lead singer eluded to a lost era. It reminded Rick of high school. His persistent grin couldn’t be tamped down. 

“Who is this?” he asked again, but Daryl didn’t answer. He just watched Rick as he listened to the words. _I don’t wanna know how much you love me, I don’t wanna know how much you care_. Rick looked up and Daryl was staring back at him with enough heat to suffocate. Rick chest burned painfully and he dropped his eyes again. _I don’t wanna do what I’m supposed to. I don’t wanna wear what I’m supposed to wear. I don’t wanna. I don’t wanna. I don’t wanna kn—_

Rick ripped the earbuds out and smiled at Daryl. Its falsity was barely enough to bite back the emotion forming in his throat and behind his eyes. “That’s real nice. Reminds me of the good ol’ days,” he said. He paused the player and popped the top. The CD looked back at him. _Wheels Are Turnin’_ it read, an REO Speedwagon album.

“You listen to that song a lot?” Rick asked.

“Yeah,” Daryl answered. The air was thick between them. Rick’s heart hammered, deep and dangerous—ba-dump…ba…dump…ba…du- _ump._ It was crying out against the frost that threatened to turn the blood in his veins to slush. Then Daryl cleared his throat and said, “I listen to ‘em all a lot. It’s a good album. And it’s the only one I got.” And the red rivers rushed back to normal speed.

Rick nodded his head and stood. “Well, I meant to tell ya dinner’s up,” he said, and he made his way toward the door. He set the walkman down at the foot of Daryl’s bunk. 

“Thanks,” Daryl said.

Rick paused in the doorway. He looked over his shoulder and said, “If that thing’s got any juice left when you’re done with it, I wouldn’t mind givin’ it a listen.”

Daryl grunted, though whether that meant ‘yes’ or ‘no’ was unclear. Rick ducked under the curtain. As he walked away, Rick felt those lyrics heavy in his belly. He couldn’t shake their endless loop. The rest of that day, and all the next, it played in the background of his life— _I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna_ —until the next evening when Rick finally caved and asked the Greene girls to sing a song. It wasn’t to liven the mood around that evening’s dinner table. It was just to cast Daryl’s song out. When the first song wasn’t enough, he asked for another, and another until finally, he buried it. Daryl had looked at him funny once or twice, and Rick was _sure_ Daryl must have known what he was thinking—he always knew—but that night Daryl walked past Rick’s cell humming the chorus of his song and there was _no way_ Daryl would have done that if he knew how badly Rick wanted to be free of it. Rick lay awake for a long while afterwards, telling himself that, again and again. Behind his thoughts, the music played. Sometimes it was the heavy 80’s rhythms, but more often it was how Rick heard it on Daryl’s lips—low, languid…taunting. He wouldn’t have done that on purpose, Rick insisted. He wouldn’t have.

By the next day, Rick was far from convinced. If Daryl was trying to get at him, then Rick surely wasn’t going let on that it worked. He’d show Daryl that his REO Speedwagon song was the last thing on Rick’s mind. That morning, Rick hummed his own song—My Little Sunshine (it was what first popped in his head)—as he went by Daryl on his way out to the garden. It stopped Daryl dead in his tracks, but Rick smiled, nodded in greeting, and kept on humming. He passed him, but felt Daryl’s eyes hot on his back all the way out to the field. A cocky smirk crept up the side of his face. Rick kept on humming through his morning chores, and with genuine gaiety. But while he was working on upturning the soil for a new vegetable planting, Rick’s hum turned into song and he heard the lyrics of his selection. _You’ll never know dear, how much I love you…_ And wasn’t that a kick in the ribs. The words died on his lips; the victory lap came to a screeching halt. Rick could hope that Daryl wasn’t the type to read much into things, but deep down, Rick knew Daryl was most definitely the type. He went through the children’s rhyme, line by line, to figure out what he’d unintentionally communicated to his best friend. He buried his hands in the water-darkened soil to turn it up and get it loose. The longer he thought on it, the more he realized the song was rather fitting. And wasn’t that just the absolute fucking worst? So much for feigning indifference. He sighed, pulled his gloves off, and wiped his sweating palms across his Levi’s. Did this mistake warrant a conversation? Rick couldn’t tell. Maybe he should just ask Daryl outright: were you trying to get that song stuck in my head? But Rick wasn’t confident that this back and forth wasn’t a creation of his imagination. 

It seemed that when it came to Daryl, he never knew the right call anymore. There was too much omitted information; it left Rick dizzy with confusion. He glanced over his shoulder, and as if on queue, there he was. Swinging arms, quick stride, his attention pulled toward the Georgia sky, heading toward Rick with purpose and a pudding cup. Rick turned, quickly adjusted his clothes, and smoothed down his hair before those narrow eyes dropped down and settled on him, squatting in the dirt. Rick chanced a smile and a tentative wave. Daryl returned the gesture. The aching pressure in Rick’s chest settled. He hadn’t even noticed it’s arrival—he had been caught in that long, swaggering gait, those wispy hairs thrown about by the twirling breeze, and those eyes, able to touch him from across yards of distance, and coming closer until distance was no obstacle at all and they were upon him, intense and warm, like the air surrounding them.

“Got this fer ya,” Daryl said. He chucked the pudding cup toward Rick. He caught it easily. Rick smiled at it, clutched in his hand. Daryl had been thinking of him. He brought him a pudding cup, which was hard to come by—they were a real prison favorite. It was even chocolate flavored. Rick’s stomach fluttered.

“Carl’ll kill ya for givin’ this to me,” Rick said, already peeling the top off. Daryl snatched the plastic film from him and dropped down in the dirt beside Rick. He licked the pudding off of the crinkling plastic appreciatively. 

“Don’t be dumb. I ain’t takin’ any pudding that I ain’t _given_ by that boy,” he said. 

“He gave you a pudding for me?” Rick said incredulously.

Daryl shrugged. “Nah. He gave it to me ‘cause I was helpin’ ‘im with lil asskicker. This mornin’, him and Beth wanted to run off somewhere by ‘emselves and I said I’d take ‘er for a bit. Guess I got paid in puddin’.”

“Daryl!” Rick said, mouth agape, “You can’t leave ‘em unsupervised like that! Carl…Beth…They’re…”

“Pft.” Daryl rolled his eyes. “Think maybe this is why the lil man asked me ’n’ not his daddy? They’re old enough. Were you livin’ with all this supervision when you were his age? He’s got you or me or Carol or _someone_ breathin’ down his neck, all the damn time. Let him hang out with his friend. His _only_ friend.” Daryl gave him a pointed look at Rick sighed. Daryl was right. Still, it was hard to see his son grow up so fast. Rick smushed the untouched pudding cup between his fingers. 

“No spoon?” Rick asked.

Daryl snorted. “Forgot,” he said, “Gotta be a man ‘bout it and drink it.” Rick laughed and shook his head, but raised the crushed pudding cup to his lips nonetheless. He sucked a bit off the top with a disgusting slurp. Daryl nodded his approval. He was trying, and failing, to suppress a shit-eating grin. Rick smiled back as he licked the chocolate remnants off his top lip. Then Daryl looked away, back up toward the blue sky with the interspersed clouds, and Rick looked down into his pudding, squeezing and releasing the container’s sides to watch its contents rise and fall. 

“Think I oughta have the talk with Carl?” Rick asked. 

“Already did,” Daryl replied. Rick looked over at him, slack-jawed shocked once again. Daryl peered at him from the corner of his eye and chuckled when he saw Rick’s face. “That was a while ago. Back when you were dealing with Lori, me ’n’ Carl would ‘ave some afternoons we’d talk ‘bout things. He needed an ear, ’s all. One of ‘em afternoons he said he liked Beth and that’s when I went through all of it with ‘im.”

“He told you that? That he likes her?”

Daryl nodded. “Wouldn’t do no harm if you went through it with ‘im too. I told ‘im the important parts, but…” Daryl put an arm up to shield his eyes from the sun’s rays. “Like I said, I don’t really know nothin’. Don’t got any experience. Whole lot less than his old man.”

Rick’s brow furrowed. He stared down at his fingers, squeezing, releasing, squeezing, releasing that poor, crumpled pudding cup…

“You know I ain’t got hardly any experience,” Rick said.

“More ’n’ me. Lot more,” said Daryl. 

The words settled over the two of them. Rick felt their weight. Sure, Rick had never exactly seen or heard about Daryl in a romantic context, at least not before that drunken night together. Daryl never talked about his dating history, never mentioned any love interests, hell, he avoided the subject at all costs. But surely, he had a fair amount of experience, despite his apparent reservations on the subject. Daryl was an attractive man, and at least near Rick’s age. A question flew through Rick’s head, like a pinball in a machine: how far _have_ you gone, Daryl? He wanted so badly to ask, but his tongue was dry and swollen in his mouth; it couldn’t be made to operate the ways he wanted it to.

Then it occurred to Rick: if it was to be believed that Daryl’s sexual experience was limited, there had to be a reason. Daryl had said before that he had a hard time with sex, that he couldn’t always keep it up, but Rick had never met a man who was as disinterested in it as Daryl supposedly was. And he _wasn’t_ disinterested, not really. Rick had seen him, hard and wanting, literally begging for touch—Rick’s touch.

So, maybe Daryl had some sexual hang-ups. If that was the case, it would explain his lack of experience: why would he engage in something that made him feel inadequate, or afraid? That could explain his behavior now, too. What if a night’s rest and the light of day made Daryl remember all his reservations about romantic relationships and _that’s_ why he’d been acting this way? Out of fear! Did that mean…Maybe Rick’s fantasy was a real possibility. Maybe Daryl _did_ secretly want Rick. 

If Rick wanted Daryl, and Daryl wanted Rick, what was the problem then? Rick couldn’t possibly imagine what was holding Daryl back. To him, it was painlessly easy to fall into “something more” with Daryl. Why would Daryl deny themselves himself something he wanted, especially knowing he could have it, if he only said the word?

There was another winter’s day, not so long after the day Daryl almost died, that the two of them spent looting stores in a shopping mall. The group had been laid up there for a few days in one of the department stores. They didn’t stay long, it was too overrun to be made permanent, but on their last day, Rick and Daryl decided to chance a shopping trip with the hope they’d find something useful. 

A half an hour into their search, they passed by a jewelry store when a window display caught Daryl’s eye. His swaggering step slowed, then stopped, and Rick followed suit. Daryl stood there, bow at his hip, eyeing a set of men’s watches on mannequin hands. 

Rick came up behind him. “See something you like?” he asked with interest. 

“Can’t believe these are just laying out like that. You got any idea what kinda money these watches are?”

Rick beamed. “Well, come on then,” Rick said excitedly, “Let’s pick you out one!” 

Daryl protested, but Rick grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him into the modestly-sized store and to the window display. He dropped Daryl’s arm, peered around to see the face options. He picked one out—a dark, metal-banded watch with an old-fashioned style—it would look nice on Daryl. With a few deft movements, Rick unclasped the watch from the mannequin, turned toward Daryl and fastened it on him.

Daryl looked down at it with reverence. Childlike fascination gripped him; Daryl lifted his hand and brushed his fingertips over its smooth surface like he was afraid it would shatter under his touch. Rick watched him, and a strange sense of satisfied joy overwhelmed him and drew out a smile bright as the sun. Daryl glanced up at him, and he looked so overwhelmed with barely-constrained desire that Rick grinned even bigger.

Daryl dropped his eyes back down to the watch. He turned his wrist back and forth, testing the weight of it. “There was a guy. He was uh…a psychologist. I had to do some…some mandatory sessions when I was in high school. I liked him a lot. He was a real good guy. Not a mean bone in his body. Even though he had all this money and class…had a fancy ass watch jus’ like this. But he didn’t look down on me none. I was always treated like shit, ‘cause I was a broke ass redneck with a piece of shit daddy ain’t no one care for. This guy though, he thought I could be somethin’. Told me so. Said it so sure I almost believed him.” 

“You are something. You’ve always been something.” Rick said. It wasn’t some line that he said because he thought he ought to. Rick meant it. Sincerity wasn’t enough, though.

Daryl shook his head, and dropped his arm. It hung awkwardly at his side, like he was wearing a handcuff instead of a name-brand watch. When he spoke again, it was thick with southern drawl, like it crawled up out of his chest only to drive his point home. He said, “Only thing I _ever_ been’s a piece o’ shit redneck. My daddy said I’d die ‘fore I wore a watch like this’n. He was almost right. I didn’t have to die, just the rest of the world had ta.” 

“It looks nice on you,” Rick said. He scooped up Daryl’s wrist to examine the watch. He turned it back and forth, watched the light move in its reflective surface. “You should keep it.”

“Pft,” Daryl scoffed. He snatched his hand back and unclasped it. The band fell from his wrist and he tossed it on the floor toward the display. “Don’t be dumb. I ain’t meant to wear that kind of shit. I’ll look like a fuckin’ loon sportin’ a flashy thing like that. Besides…can’t have it weighing down by bow arm.” Then he turned and stalked out before Rick could reply. 

Rick grabbed the watch off the floor and slipped it in his back pocket that day. He wasn’t entirely sure why. It just seemed too final to leave it behind. Daryl couldn’t wear it then, but maybe one day, he’d let himself have something nice like that. Daryl deserved the whole damn world—even if he didn’t believe it himself. Rick carried that watch for months. When they got to the prison, he stuck it under his mattress, where it wouldn’t be found until it’s day had come. Rick told himself that eventually, he’d give that watch to Daryl. One day, Daryl would be ready for it.

Rick pulled the pudding cup up to his lips and sucked at its contents. He licked his lips clean and passed it off to Daryl. He took it without comment and tipped it back to get his own mouthful. He didn’t even turn the cup to drink from a different edge than Rick had. The thought made Rick’s cheeks bloom with blush. They had kissed, yet somehow the intimacy of sharing a pudding cup made Rick swoon. 

Looking at Daryl now—his soft profile, his relaxed face turned up toward the sun—made Rick’s heart feel swollen. His body burned with a new fire and he named it—hope. He couldn’t forget. He shared something with Daryl, and now he that had tasted that sweet honey—how could he ever let it go? 

Rick decided it: he’d get his date. He’d go the whole nine yards, as he promised. Daryl just didn’t have to _know_ it was date. Daryl deserved to be swept off his feet, just as much as he deserved that watch. Rick would give him both. Rick would give him everything.

“You and I are going out tomorrow,” Rick told him.

Daryl looked at him, confused. “What?” he asked.

“We gotta go on another run. Been long enough. Just need to grab a couple things. You with me?” Rick said. 

Daryl passed the pudding cup back to Rick, who brought it to his lips to taste that sweetness again. He looked up over it at Daryl. He was staring back at him, looking so simple and pure in the sunlight. Rick could see the trust there, written across his face. Even after everything that had happened, Daryl didn’t look at him any different. They were the same as they always had been: just them, just Rick and Daryl, sitting side-by-side. The calm ocean was warm like bathwater; it soothed Rick’s aches until he felt loose-limbed and at peace, and though he was submerged in the slow-rolling tide, his chest felt put-together, and he had no need for air. 

“Yeah, ‘m with ya,” Daryl said, earnest as ever. “Always with ya.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the shameless songfic has evolved into a shameless 80's album fic!
> 
> This chapter features what I personally believe to be the ultimate Rickyl album, REO Speedwagon's _Wheels Are Turnin'_. While it is not _technically_ required, I highly recommend listening to it while you read! Rick and Daryl listen to the whole album, in order, so you can listen right along with them without much effort.
> 
> [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m6UFhis2xMQ&list=PLlnUE0jDlZeDCxbWQwltksbfIBN1-bGEL) is the full album. The music videos are...really somethin'. You can also find the album on spotify, which is how I prefer to listen to it. 
> 
> These songs are specifically mentioned in the story: [One Lonely Night](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c9spWIuYxBc) (Daryl's skipped song), [Can't Fight This Feeling](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zpOULjyy-n8), and [Gotta Feel More](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i8bdeu4SS1U).

Rick smoothed out his shirt, took a deep breath, and knocked on the steel frame around Daryl’s cell. Daryl’s gruff whisper came from the other side of the sheet covering the doorway. “Come in,” he said. Rick pulled back the curtain of fabric and stepped through. He blinked a couple times as his eyes adjusted to the dark room. It was lit only by a single candle. After a few seconds, he could make out some vague shapes: the bunk, the corner wall, Daryl’s dark form. He was squatting by his makeshift bedside table, reading a list by the candlelight. Rick took in the image. Daryl’s broad shoulders, his unkempt hair, the way his ass looked in that position…though he could use a better pair of jeans. 

“You ready?” Daryl asked as he studied his list. 

“Yeah…you?”

“Been ready,” Daryl said, “Been waitin’ on you. Car’s loaded up ’n’ everything.” He cast a backwards glance over his shoulder and looked Rick up and down. “You sleep last night? You never drag yer feet ‘fore goin’ out. Always lookin’ to get it over with.”

Rick smiled. “Yeah, I slept. Guess I’m not in any kinda rush today. Took my time gettin’ ready,” he said honestly. He shrugged it off like it wasn’t a big deal, but in truth, Rick spent half the morning scrubbing his body pink in the shower and the other half trying on every possible wardrobe combination until he settled on a fitted pair of black jeans and a tightly-tucked flannel. He even considered shaving, but decided that might make his effort too blatant. It wasn’t exactly the ideal pre-date getting ready process. Rick would have preferred a shirt that made him look less like a farmer-dad, perhaps with fewer residual blood stains. Cologne would have been nice as well. If Rick had the resources, he would have showed up at Daryl’s cell looking better, smelling better, and with a bright bouquet of summer flowers. But this was the apocalypse, and one can only make do. 

Daryl stood and shoved the list in the back pocket of his ratty jeans. He turned toward Rick and said, “Well, I think I’ve written out everything we need. It ain’t much. This run coulda waited, but ya seemed set on it. Is there something specific ya needed?”

Rick didn’t hear his question. He was caught up in Daryl, now that he was standing in front of him. His jeans were loose and nearly falling off his hips. He wore a sleeveless tank that showed off his arms, but did nothing else for his figure. It was stretched out, with an obnoxious palm tree design that made it look lifted from a California skate shop. It was well-loved, too: full of tears and so worn that the black fabric had become grey. It was an outfit that Rick had seen on Daryl a dozen times, but today, it seemed out of place.

“You’re wearing that?” Rick asked. He looked up to Daryl and found him taken aback. He stared at Rick, confused, like the question didn’t make any sense to him. Rick supposed that it didn’t. Mark it down as one of the many perils of taking your crush out on a date without informing them of the situation. 

“Yeah…why?” He looked Rick up and down again, this time taking in his neat, form-fitting clothes. “You’re wearing that?” he shot back. 

Rick flushed and looked down at his own outfit. He smiled and shrugged. “What do you mean? At least mine are in one piece,” he said jokingly. 

“Yeah, well I don’t exactly head out to kill walkers in my Sunday best,” Daryl snapped. He tugged at the hem of his shirt awkwardly and looked to the pile of clothes in the corner of his room like he was thinking about changing. Then he scoffed, rolled his eyes, and stormed past Rick and out of the cell.

Rick smiled and shook his head. Before, Rick might’ve been irritated with Daryl’s short temper, but now he found it endearing. In fact, ever since their night together, Rick found there was nothing about Daryl he didn’t like. He had tried over the last few weeks to think of flaws. He entertained every possible reason to squash out his fast-blooming feelings and came up empty-handed. Finally, he had to admit it to himself: they were highly compatible. Rick could imagine falling in love with Daryl Dixon. The thought made his stomach flutter in nervous anticipation. 

Rick walked over to the candle on the nightstand to blow it out, but there, poking out from under Daryl’s pillow, was the Hawaiian flower-print walkman. Rick grinned. He snatched the walkman up, blew out the candle, and followed Daryl out to the car, stopping only to grab a backpack from the kitchen that he’d prepared the night before. Packed in it was mostly food—canned peaches and ham, crackers, and fresh tomatoes. A mason jar filled with powder-made lemonade. There was also a mixed bag of uncooked rice and oats, and a thin patchwork quilt, neatly folded. Lastly, in the front pocket of the backpack was Daryl’s watch. Rick took it out from under his mattress and stuffed it in with the rest of it, not because he was expecting today to be its day, but as a symbol of hope that maybe it could be. It was a good luck charm. A promise of potentiality. Rick patted the front pocket to double-check that the watch was there and felt its firm outline. He nodded to himself, slung the bag over his shoulder, and headed through the main door.

Once Rick made it outside, he saw Daryl in the middle of the blacktop at the back of the minivan’s open trunk, doing a final check of their supplies. He had slipped his angel-winged vest over the top of his shirt, and his crossbow was slung over his shoulder. Daryl was only standing there, fingers dancing in the air as he mentally checked off their supplies laid out in the trunk, but Rick couldn’t help but think he looked beautiful in the grey, early-morning light. 

“Sorry to leave the packin’ to you,” Rick said as he approached.

“Ain’t nothin’. We don’t got much anyway, just you ’n’ me. Here,” he said, and turned to toss Rick his revolver. He hadn’t seen that Rick’s right hand was already occupied by Daryl’s walkman. Rick held the walkman up and out of the way and jumped backwards to dodge the gun. It dropped hard on the blacktop and at his feet and skidded a few inches with a hideous metal-on-cement squeal. Daryl looked up to him, mouth agape, then at the walkman. 

“What the fuck man?” Daryl said. He hurried over to scoop the gun up, inspect it, and dust it off. When his calloused fingers proved too big for the nooks and crannies, he blew at it to remove and remaining dust, though Rick couldn’t imagine there was any in the first place. Daryl cleaned it with the hem of his shirt, looked it over, and cleaned it again. Rick smiled and watched him as he worked. Finally, once Daryl had deemed it good enough, he held the gun out to Rick, who took it in his left hand. Daryl looked again at the walkman. “Shouldn’t’ve let yer gun drop for that stupid thing,” Daryl said. He chewed his lip. “Did I leave it out?” he asked. 

“Sorta. Saw it under your pillow. Hope you don’t mind. I figured we could use some tunes. I’ve been wanting to listen,” he said with a quirked lip. He played it casual, but it felt like a confession when Rick said it and made his stomach flip nervously. The past few weeks, Rick had been tentative with the truth and Daryl, but today should be different. It was their first date, and Rick wasn’t gonna lie or mislead his date right out the gate. That’s not how healthy relationships start. 

Although, the truth might’ve be more than his date could handle. Daryl blushed brightly and turned away from Rick. He pulled the trunk down and slammed it shut, then quickly made his way around to the driver’s side of the car.

“Slow your roll there Daryl,” Rick called after him. “I’m not even holstered. And besides, I’m drivin’. Come on ‘round.” Rick made his way over to the passenger’s side. Daryl stood frozen for a minute, hand on the driver’s door handle, staring after Rick inquisitively, but finally his feet got the memo and he walked around to the other side of the car. Rick was there waiting for him. He passed the walkman over, and Daryl took it in both hands. Then Rick opened the car door and Daryl flushed. 

“Get on in and pop that sucker in the player. You got the keys?” Rick said with a smile. Daryl nodded and fished them out of his pocket. He climbed in the car and Rick closed the door behind him. Daryl looked out the window at him, disoriented and red-faced, but Rick only shot him a charming grin and patted the car door. He made his way around to the back and opened the trunk. He pulled his backpack off his shoulders and traded it for his holster belt. He fasted it on and watched as Daryl leaned over to start up the car. He popped open his walkman, slid the disc into the CD slot, and paused it before the music could start up. He closed his walkman and turned to throw the player onto the back seat just as Rick was sliding his python into place. Their eyes connected and Rick smiled again. He nodded, saying without words, ‘thank you.’ Then he closed the trunk, went around to the drivers side, and got in. 

“Alright, you ready?” Rick asked. Daryl’s thumbnail was in his mouth, the other arm wrapped tight around his middle, gaze directed out his window. He nodded, almost imperceptibly. Rick nodded too, and put the car into drive. He pulled the car up to the gate and Glenn, who had the current watch, was there waiting for them. Glenn slid the gate open and closed as Rick pulled the car though. They drove away from the prison, Rick’s eyes on the road, Daryl’s on the green blur of the passing forest. A few minutes passed, and they pulled out of the dense forest and onto the higher road. From there, Rick could see the morning sun breaking at the horizon, casting out a blanket of sweet, golden-yellows. He nudged Daryl’s side to get his attention and nodded him toward the eastern sky. The sight of it seemed to ease Daryl’s nerves. His shoulders relaxed, his hand fell away from his mouth, and he watched it, alongside Rick. 

“Where we headed first, list-master?” Rick asked. 

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Thought you were drivin’,” he said. “Practically trippin’ over yourself to do it.”

Rick shrugged. “I always drive,” he said. The truth was, he wanted to be behind the wheel today because he had an afternoon planned—but he couldn’t say that to Daryl without raising suspicions. “I drove our squad car. And Lori didn’t much care for it, so she’d pawn it off on me whenever possible.”

“Sure, blame everyone else. Personally, I think yer a control freak,” Daryl said with a joking turn to his lips. 

“Pft,” Rick smiled. “Maybe I am. Press play, won’t ya?” Daryl looked at him, and Rick glanced over to catch his expression. He was nervous again. “Go on. I’m not gonna trash talk your music or anything. Got no kinda musical preference whatsoever. I like it all.” Daryl frowned, then quickly pressed the play button like he was trying to get it over with. He leaned back and folded his arms as the first few notes of a song came through the speakers. 

Now it was Rick’s turn to frown. The beat sounded awfully familiar, but he couldn’t be sure it was _that_ song until…

The chorus came through: _I don’t wanna kno-ow,_ and Rick shook his head. “Naw,” he said, “We’re done with that.” He hit the next button and the CD skipped to the second song on the album. Daryl looked over to him, and though there was _something_ written there across his face, Rick couldn’t place it. Daryl looked away, and so did Rick. The first notes of a slow, somber tune played out into the car and Daryl shook his head. He launched himself forward and hit the next button again. 

“Done with that too,” Daryl said. Rick’s heart jumped in his chest. He wanted so badly to hit the back button and listen to the song that pulled a reaction out of Daryl. Maybe if Rick heard the words, he’d understand a secret part of Daryl’s mind. But Daryl wanted to leave it behind, like how Rick wanted to leave behind, “I don’t wanna know how much you love me,” and who was Rick to question something like that? So he left the player alone as the third song started up. He kept driving along the deserted highway, sitting side-by-side with Daryl, both of them illuminated by the morning sun. 

They listened to two songs as they drove, and thankfully both of them were upbeat, catchy, and perfectly unrelated to their lives. The tension from earlier dissipated, and they fell into comfortable silence. Finally, Daryl hit the pause on the music and said to Rick, “pull in here.” Rick turned the car into a small strip with a liquor store, coffeeshop, restaurant, and drug store. They got out of the car and cleared all four buildings, and ransacked them as they went. They only ran into three walkers, one in the parking lot, which Daryl took out effortlessly with his crossbow, and the other two in the liquor store. Daryl shot one down and Rick pulled out his machete to go for the other, but he danced around it and kept pulling his swings until Daryl noticed and shot that one, too. 

“What the fuck’s wrong with you man?” Daryl asked as he ripped his arrow free of the walker’s eye socket. 

Rick blushed brightly and shrugged. “I dunno. The machete’s messy, is all.” 

Daryl scoffed at him, and muttered something about how Rick’s stupid outfit was gonna get him killed, but he started grabbing stuff off the shelves and shoving it into his pack, so Rick figured it was safe to assume his grousing was best left unanswered. 

All in all, it only took them a few hours to clean out the shopping strip and check off every item on their short list. They headed back out to the car with their final haul and tossed it in the back. They closed up the trunk with a muted thunk. Daryl turned to Rick, and peered up at the sky with one squinted eye.

“Only ‘bout eight o’clock. Got plenty of time. Ya gonna tell me what we’re out here for now?” Daryl asked. 

Rick grinned and stood there, hands on his hips, looking to the horizon, pondering. They finished their errands a lot quicker than Rick anticipated. They had the whole day to spend together. The trick would be keeping Daryl entertained, so he wouldn’t think about heading back to the prison too soon.

“Yeah. C’mon,” Rick said. It was still too early for lunch, but he’d drive in the general direction of the place he had in mind and let the day lead them where it may. Rick lead the way around to the passenger’s side. Daryl followed him tentatively, and blushed when Rick swung the door open and stood aside so that Daryl could get in. But he always followed Rick’s lead, and this was no different. Rick closed the door behind him and hurried around to the other side. He climbed in, smiled broadly at Daryl, who smiled weakly back at him, and he pulled the car out of the lot. As soon as they were on the road again, he nodded toward the player and Daryl turned it back on. The fifth song on the album was wonderfully upbeat. It matched the frantic rhythms of Rick’s pounding heart. And although it wasn’t a song about love, it made Rick think of Daryl, and he couldn’t help stealing glances at him while he watched out the window at the passing landscape. 

“If ya don’t keep yer eyes on the damn road, m’gonna ‘ave ya pull over ’n’ switch with me,” Daryl said. Rick huffed out a nervous laugh. Shit. He thought he was being discrete. He locked his gaze back on the road. It took considerable effort to keep it there. 

After another minute, the CD switched to the next song. The sound of the first few notes made Daryl jump in his seat like he’d be burned. He scrambled to switch it to the next one, but it was too late—Rick had already heard enough to recognize the notes and he reached his hand out to stop Daryl. 

“No…no, wait, I know this one,” Rick said, a grin creeping up his face. Daryl knocked his hand away and pressed the skip.

“Everyone knows that one. Heard it too much. Sick of it,” he said shortly. Rick gave him a stern look. 

“ _I’m_ not sick of it. I haven’t heard it in ages. You can sit it through it one more time,” he said with a joking smile. He pressed the back button and let the song start up again. Daryl groaned and he leaned back with tightly crossed arms and a furrowed brow. 

Rick nudged him. “Oh, lighten up. It’s a good song,” he said. Then the singer came in, and his words instantly made Rick flush. _Oh, I can't fight this feeling any longer, and yet I'm still afraid to let it flow—_ oh, god _—what started out this friendship has grown stronger—_ it was perfect _—I only wish I had the strength to let it show—_ every word of this song was perfect. Rick looked to Daryl, bewildered, and found him with downcast eyes, chewing madly at the nail on his pinky finger. The same embarrassed shade of pink Rick wore was also covering Daryl’s face. It reached all the way up to his ears. He glanced at Rick from the corner of his eye, and the way he looked at him—tragic, aching—it was like Daryl was saying the words to Rick. 

His heart was racing in his chest. For a few long seconds, Rick couldn’t bear to pull his gaze away from Daryl, but finally, Daryl looked back to the window and Rick’s eyes darted back to the road. He listened to the lyrics, and never in his life did a song make Rick feel so giddy. It’s heavy beat, sweet, melodic voice, and those words meant just for him…it was breathtaking. It made Rick feel lightheaded and wildly in love. It infused him with confidence. It took every ounce of his strength not to reach for Daryl, to cross that distance between them. He kept talking himself out of it, but as soon as he decided against such a rash act, the songs chorus would roll around again— _I can’t fight this feeling anymore, I’ve forgotten what I started fighting for_ —and the battle in Rick’s mind would reignite. He was white-knuckling the steering wheel when he finally chanced another glance at Daryl, whose pained eyes darted up to meet his. He looked just as tormented as Rick felt. Rick thought he couldn’t possibly last another second in the boiling sea of tension, but then the song finished and Daryl hit pause on the player before the next one could start. The silence made them both deflate. 

That song was all the confirmation Rick needed: he was on the right path. Daryl _did_ want him, there was just something holding him back. If Daryl wouldn’t pursue him, then Rick would coax him forward until they fell into each other’s arms. It was a matter of patience. Rick could do patient. He could take things slow. 

Daryl nodded over to a shopping center on the left. It had a large lot and a handful of stores and restaurants. “Probably picked through by now, but it’s worth a look,” he said. Rick nodded and turned in. 

They spent the next few hours meandering between stores. Daryl killed any walkers they happened upon with a well-placed bolt. If there were multiple, he’d shoot the ones by Rick first, before Rick could even draw his machete. As a result, Rick never even came close to getting his hands dirty. He’d smile appreciatively over at Daryl, Daryl would nod back at him, and then shoot down the last of the walkers. Rick was a little sad that the dead couldn’t be avoided—they really were a mood kill—but he chalked it up to another fault with dating during the apocalypse. 

At least their time in the mall solved Rick’s earlier complaints: in the various stores, Rick found himself a couple fresh shirts that were nicer than anything he owned, as well as an expensive smelling cologne (for all the future dates he was planning). It was fun to think of the future, to have a reason to get done up, and Rick couldn’t help but grin like a lovestruck teenager while he was flicking through clothing racks or sniffing various scents on tester strips. 

For a while, Daryl hung back and watched Rick with a hint of a smile. He made snide remarks every now and then, like when Rick pulled a plum-colored shirt off the rack, Daryl snorted and said, “Disco is dead, man.” Or when Rick shrugged on a tweed jacket and did a twirl, Daryl smirked and shook his head. “Maybe in another universe you could pull off the teacher look,” he said, “but in this universe, it don’t suit ya too well, Sheriff.” Over time, Daryl edged closer to Rick until he ended up peering over his shoulder to watch as he shuffled through his options. Rick threw besotted, shiny-eyed looks over his shoulder with Daryl’s every word. It drew Daryl in and kept him talking. Once Daryl was fully invested in helping Rick with his new-shirt mission, Rick started asking his opinion. “What do you think of this one?” he would ask, holding a shirt up to his torso. Daryl would stand back and look him up and down, and regardless of whether he offered up his approval or a taunting dismissal, Rick would award his participation with a far-reaching smile, and in response to his dry remarks, a hearty laugh. 

Daryl wandered out into the maze of clothing racks and called back after him, “What’s your size?” Rick shouted it back to him, and when Daryl returned a few minutes later, his arms were heaping with shirts he’d picked out. He pushed them into Rick’s arms and said, “Try these ones on.” Rick grinned and set to work, setting aside the pile of clothes atop a nearby rack so that he could pull his shirt off. Daryl watched from the corner of his eye as Rick tugged the fabric free from under his pants. Rick noticed, and smirked. His hurried scramble turned slow and sensual as he started undoing the buttons on his shirt. Daryl’s eyes were locked on Rick’s unhurried fingers as they worked at pulling the worn fabric aside to reveal the skin underneath. Heat crept up on Daryl’s face, and Rick felt a thrill from being able to pull that sort of reaction out of Daryl. At the third button, Daryl ripped his eyes away and looked up at Rick, and whatever expression Rick was wearing—pride? lust?—it made Daryl blush even brighter. He quickly turned away and busied himself with another clothing rack. Rick huffed a laugh and finished taking his shirt off. He pulled one from the top of Daryl’s pile and shrugged it on. He fastened up the buttons while looking at Daryl’s back.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say there’s someone you’re tryin’ ta impress,” Daryl said softly.

Rick pinched his lips together to hold back his smile. “Maybe there is,” he said with a playful edge. Daryl whipped his head around and looked at him, his fingernail caught between his teeth. Rick smiled back at him as he tucked the shirt into his pants. The devilish look in his eyes made Daryl whirl back around and refocus his attention on the clothing racks. He was pushing the same three shirts back and forth across the bar. 

“This why we came out here? So you could get some pretty clothes? Whatcha gon do with this stuff anyway?” Daryl asked.

“What makes you think I came out today lookin’ for somethin’? Maybe I just thought you and I oughta get out of that stuffy ol’ prison. Look at this one. What to you think?”

Daryl turned and looked at Rick. It was a long-sleeve burgundy dress shirt. The fabric was luxurious, crisp, and perfectly cut to frame Rick’s thin, muscled body. Rick ran his hands down the front of it to smooth out the wrinkles and did a little turn so Daryl could see all sides. When he was facing him again, Rick saw that Daryl’s bottom lip was being held captive by teeth. The look in his eyes was dim and far away, like he was imaging the shirt in a setting quite unlike the poorly-lit clothing store—on the floor of his cell, perhaps. Rick’s stomach flipped at the thought. 

“Well—” Daryl said, “That’ll get the job done. Anyone would be impressed by that. Suits ya. Needs a tie, though.”

“Well you’re the expert. Go pick one out for me, Mr. Dixon,” Rick said with a wink. Daryl gave him one quick nod and turned to run off to the nearest tie display. He seemed very eager to put some distance between them. While he searched, Rick started a search of his own—he put together his own pile of shirts and dress pants in colors that would look nice on Daryl. When Daryl returned holding a brown tie with intricate gold detailing, Rick traded the pile of clothes for it with flourish. 

Daryl blinked down at the pile of neutral fabrics in his arms. “What’s this?” he asked. 

“I picked some things out for you,” Rick said as he brought his tie around his neck.

“What? No. I ain’t a fancy fuck like you. I don’t want nothin’ to do with this kinda stuff,” Daryl said.

Rick finished off his knot and put his hands on his hips. He looked at Daryl like he sometimes looked at Carl when he wasn’t minding. “I picked ‘em out for you. You gotta try them on. I wanna see what you look like all cleaned up, Mr. Dixon.” He gave him a charismatic smile that Rick hoped was very persuasive.

Daryl shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He looked like he badly wanted to set the clothes aside, but he was too afraid to go through with it. “Will ya stop calling me that?” he said, “I’m no ‘mister’. Hell, I ain’t ever owned an outfit like this in my entire life. Had no need for it.”

Rick looked at him curiously. Daryl’s point wasn’t something Rick could relate to. He loved getting dressed up. Before the fall, his closet had been packed with outfits no different from anything in here. But Rick supposed that clothes like this _were_ expensive, and if Daryl wasn’t going to parties or out on dates each weekend, it would seem like a waste of money. If that was his rationality before though, it held no ground anymore. The clothes were free, and now Daryl had a reason to wear nice things—Rick was going to make sure of it.

“You really gonna make me run ‘round town overdressed? The walkers will be laughing at me! At least if we’re both done up, they’ll just assume we’ve got ‘fancy fuck’ plans to attend to.” 

Daryl rolled his eyes. “The walkers don’t got any business judgin’ your clothes. All of ‘em are lookin’ trashed, day in, day out.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just try ‘em on? It ain’t no fun playin’ dress up alone.” 

Daryl rolled his eyes again, and bitched about it plenty more over the course of the next hour, but he went along with it. After all, Rick had asked him to. By the time they were heading back out to the car, it was early afternoon and they were both dressed in perfectly impractical attire, smelling like carefully-selected cologne, each with a bag of clothes they decided to take home. 

“I still don’t see why I had to take the other pants, and two more shirts. It’s the end of the world, man. Who has time for this stuff?” Daryl said as he threw his shopping bag into the trunk.

Rick set his bag beside Daryl’s. “Please,” he said, “Like I was going to let you leave those slacks behind. Or that grey shirt! Besides, you could use the clothes. You know, if you wanted to retire the palm tree, no one would complain.” 

Daryl laughed and smacked his shoulder. “Shut up man,” he said. He wore a childlike smile, still in good spirits from their time spent shopping. “Don’t think that ‘cause ya talked me into some fancy fuck clothes that I’m a changed man. I’m still a redneck underneath the costume ya put me in.”

Rick stole a glance at Daryl for the hundredth time since he’d put the outfit on. Daryl was in a pair of black pants that weren’t all that different from Rick’s. He wore a black button up shirt to match. It was long-sleeved, but Daryl had folded the cuffs up as far as they would go, to his elbows. Over the top of it, he slipped on his angel-winged vest, which he had insisted upon, and though Rick protested, secretly it made him dizzy with desire. He refused a tie, and wouldn’t fasten the buttons all the way to the top, opting to leave two undone. So, in many ways, his outfit wasn’t too much different than what he normally wore—and that was just the thing—it was so distinctly _Daryl_ that Rick couldn’t help but swoon at that sight of him. 

Rick smiled warmly and shut the trunk. Rick turned to him and let his eyes sweep over Daryl’s figure again. He made no effort to hide it, and Daryl blushed under the attention. “You look good, Daryl. Really,” Rick said.

Daryl chewed his lip and looked to the ground. He reached a hand up and tugged lightly on Rick’s burgundy shirt. It had been Rick’s favorite of all the ones he tried on, although he suspected it was only his favorite because it was quite obviously Daryl’s favorite. “You too,” Daryl said shyly, and he smiled up at him. 

Rick’s heart hammered in his chest, his whole body hummed with nervous energy, and all at once, he was floored by how badly he needed to kiss Daryl. There was only a few inches between them. It would be almost effortless to lean in and close that gap between their lips. And Daryl looked like he was waiting for it. Staring up at Rick like that, with those big, innocent eyes, lips sweet from the words he’d said, messy hair blowing softly with the Georgia breeze, and those fingers, playing with the fabric of his shirt so casually, like he didn’t even realize what it did to Rick’s head. If Daryl would only pull that fabric a little harder—use it to guide Rick forward until their bodies were flush against one another—Rick swore to God he’d abandon caution. He would cup Daryl’s face in his hands and kiss those tender, waiting lips like they were made for him. If Daryl would only pull him in and show him he wanted it, too.

Daryl turned his gaze to the horizon, dropped his hand, and walked away. Rick let out a pathetic whine (thankfully stifled, deep enough in his throat that Daryl couldn’t hear) and followed him. They went around to the passenger’s side and Rick opened Daryl’s door for him. Maybe the outfit was giving Daryl newfound confidence, or maybe Rick had done it enough times that Daryl got used to it, but for whatever reason, Daryl didn’t blush. He just nodded his thanks and climbed in like it was nothing, and somehow his nonchalance turned the tables and made _Rick_ blush, because now he was imagining a whole new way of being with Daryl. They could fall into this so easily, the two of them. Rick knew it was no longer a matter of _if_ but _when_ he’d fall in love with Daryl. 

A few seconds later, Rick was closing the driver’s side door behind him and starting up the car. Daryl turned to him and asked, “Where to now?” and Rick grinned, because on a normal run, they’d be talking of heading back to the prison. But neither of them had any desire to return home. They were enjoying each other’s company. Turns out keeping Daryl entertained wasn’t as difficult as Rick expected.

“You hungry?” Rick asked. 

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. You bring somethin’?”

“Yup. Packed up some lunch for us. You feel like playin’ navigator? Got a spot in mind, if you’re willin’ to make the drive. It shouldn’t be far from here, but I’ve never come from this direction before.”

Daryl popped open the glove compartment and pulled the map out. “Where we goin’?” he asked.

Rick leaned over and examined it for a minute. Daryl thrusted it over so he could get a better look. After a few seconds of searching, Rick found it. He pointed to the spot on the map and Daryl pulled it up to his eyes so he could read the faded print.

“Pickering Park? I ain’t never been there ‘fore,” Daryl said.

“You game?” 

Daryl nodded, spread the map out for easy viewing, and kicked his feet up on the dashboard. He said, “Onward, Mr. Grimes,” and hit his heel against the play button on the CD player. A rock song started up and Daryl smiled ear-to-ear. “Aw man, yer gonna love this one,” he said. Rick laughed and pulled the car out of the parking lot. As the song’s lyrics came through, Rick’s smile grew until it matched Daryl’s. _I've never seen the sea seem so calm. I've never felt the breeze slippin' through the trees. But now I've got you and it's takin’ so long. I want to see more, I gotta feel more…_

Rick couldn’t help but turn and smile dumbly at Daryl, and even though Daryl scoffed and shook his head, he was smiling just as dumb back at him. 

It took them about forty-five minutes to get to the park, and the car ride was mostly starry-eyed sidelong glances and easy conversation. They finished out the album in the first fifteen minutes. Rick loved it. He wouldn’t be able to hear any of the songs they’d listened to without thinking about Daryl. The association was burned into his brain from now until the end of time, and that was more than okay. _Wheels Are Turnin’_ was their album now. They’d play it at the freakin’ wedding, Rick thought, and though he knew it was far too early and a little ridiculous to imagine marrying Daryl fucking Dixon, he couldn’t talk himself out of the fantasy. It was too sweet to resist. 

After the CD finished, they turned to talking about silly, unimportant things like music, and then high school. That turned into conversation about what kind of people were the very worst, and what qualities in people they admired most. Daryl went on at length about things like honesty and loyalty and Rick swore he kept looking at him with reverence in his eyes, as if to say ‘you, Rick. I love everything that you are.’ Rick agreed with him on all his points and added things like selflessness, determination, and bravery, and though he didn’t mean to list off qualities Daryl possessed, he found that all those things described him perfectly, so there he was, staring doe-eyed right back at Daryl like they were a couple of star-struck lovers. They talked about the state of the new world. Rick talked about things he missed, but Daryl offered the alternate perspective, and argued that maybe the world was a little better this way. “I know it ain’t ever gonna make up for all the bad, but there is some good to it,” he said, “I wouldn’t be wearin’ these clothes in the old world. I wouldn’t be drivin’ round in a car like this ‘ne. I wouldn’t know you, or any of them people back at the prison. It’s a hard world now, but…it’s soft in some places. None of ya woulda given me the time of day before. Now ya treat me like family. It’s nice. I ain’t ever belonged somewhere like I do now.”

Rick frowned at him. “That’s not true. What you said about none of us givin’ you the time of day. I hadn’t known you in the old world, but if I had, I’d like to think we’d be the same as we are now.” 

Daryl chewed his lip and looked over at Rick with a deep-furrowed brow. “You think we would’ve been friends?” he asked. His voice came out wobbly and afraid, like he didn’t really want to ask. 

Rick nodded emphatically. “No doubt. I like who you are, Daryl. You’re a good man. That’s true regardless of whether we’re in the new world or the old. If you were willin’ to show me the kind of person you are, then you and I would have ended up bein’ great friends.” He looked to Daryl then, and saw him staring back at him with wide eyes. He looked surprised, but positively enraptured, too—like Rick’s words were a gift he never expected to receive. All over again, Rick’s need to kiss Daryl was a rope bound around his waist, dragging him out to sea. He cleared his throat and looked back to the road, wondering how the hell he was going to make it through the rest of the day. 

Not so long after that, they reached Pickering Park. It took Daryl’s careful instruction and a couple loops around until they found the off-road that lead down to the park’s entrance. It was surrounded by thick forest, but a large part of the park was a bright clearing with plenty of open space. Rick was pleased to find it peaceful and in decent shape. The rains from the long spring meant the grass was tall and green, and all the flowering plants had a healthy bloom. It was exactly as he remembered it. It was untouched, thriving, despite the chaotic world around it. Rick could almost imagine they’d walked into the past—it was a piece of the world, laid out just for them. 

They parked the car in the small parking lot overlooking the clearing and climbed out. Both of them were enraptured by the gorgeous swath of land before them. The sun was high overhead; it filled the basin with bright, afternoon light that gave the place an ethereal glow. The silence was phenomenal. The only sound was the happy chitters of  the birds and squirrels and…something else. Something low and reverberating. Gentle, and well-paced. Rick turned and looked at Daryl, standing there with hand resting atop the still-open car door, looking out into Georgia’s beauty like he was coming home—his chest rising and falling in time with the sound in Rick’s ears. A smile leapt onto Rick’s face.

“I can hear you breathing!” he said, and immediately, the sound stopped. Daryl looked at him with a furrowed brow, air caught in his lungs, afraid he’d offended Rick somehow. “No, no,” Rick said quickly, “It doesn’t bother me! It just surprised me, is all. I don’t think I’ve ever been a place quiet enough to hear you breathin’. Not like this.” Daryl gnawed at his lip for a moment then looked away. To Rick’s relief and captivation, his breathing picked up like normal.

“Yeah,” he said softly, so as not to disturb anything. “I like bein’ places like this. It’s too bad the dead are walkin’ ‘cause I’d take this over walls any day.”

Rick found himself nodding in agreement. Pickering Park would be a nice place to live. He could imagine taking his family out here. Living in tents like they had, back at the farm. Sleeping out under the stars, cooking over campfire, running off into the forest to kiss Daryl under the cover of trees—yeah, he could get used to that idea. 

“Dead won’t be walking forever,” he said. It was something he had thought plenty about, but never gave voice to. He didn’t want to get his people’s hopes up, didn’t want them waiting on the promise of a better tomorrow when many of them wouldn’t make it there anyhow. Daryl though, he had probably thought about it himself. He was practical and forward-thinking, same as Rick. What could it hurt, to say what they both knew in the back of their minds? He continued on: “It’s only a matter of time before the walkers are too rotted to pose a threat. Most of them died during the fall, so eventually, the majority of the walkers will be phased out. No more hoards.” Rick glanced at Daryl and found him staring back at him intensely. His skin prickled hotly under his gaze. He turned back toward the open field before them. “If we make it another…two years, say, we could move out to a place like this. It’d be safer, actually. No one would find us, and even if they did, we won’t got any shelter worth takin’.”

“We’ll make it,” Daryl said firmly, like he was never more sure of anything in his life. Rick smiled. Daryl was confident, and it rubbed off on Rick. Suddenly, he wasn’t looking at a childhood memory anymore, but his future home. Pickering Park could be that for them. One day. 

For today though, it was the location of Rick and Daryl’s first date. Rick was a traditionalist: he always believed the best first date was the classic dinner-and-a-movie. Except the apocalypse took out all the restaurants and movie theaters, and that left Rick to get creative. A picnic lunch wasn’t quite a fancy dinner, and birdwatching was a far stretch from a high-action movie, but it would have to do. Rick had a sneaking suspicion that Daryl might actually prefer this modified version. No crowds, stress, or expectations. It was just them, just Rick and Daryl, spending the afternoon in each other’s company out in the Georgia wilds. 

Rick made his way around back and grabbed his pack from the trunk while Daryl grabbed his bow and loaded up a new bolt. They headed down the stone-carved stairs that lead from the parking lot down into the the clearing, weapons raised. As they crossed over the field, Rick turned them right and lead them deeper into the park.

“Where we headed?” Daryl asked from behind him.

“You’ll see,” Rick called over his shoulder. 

Rick guided them to a hiking trail branching off of the clearing that lead into the forest. The path lead down the side of a small hill and into a long-dry ravine. They walked along the silted creek-bed, following the natural curve of it until the path turned sharply downwards. Rick climbed down the steep slope, and offered a hand out to guide Daryl down the same way. Then, they were in a basin, perhaps the lowest point in the whole park. 

They had reached it. The trees were still present, but more loosely interspersed. The mud had turned to overgrown grass, the undisturbed blades blowing easily in the breeze. A rocky wall stood in front of them, fifteen feet tall, and pouring a steady stream of fresh water over itself into a fenced-off duck pond. The waist high, victorian style iron bars around the water’s perimeter was the only indication that human life had ever touched this place. Rick knew better though—back in it’s hay-day, this place was a favorite among the local children, Rick included. It was a well known spot for feeding ducks. 

And they were still here—floating along the water’s surface, flapping their wings to disturb its smooth surface, looking happy as ever, unbothered by the current state of the world, except for perhaps the decrease in feedings it resulted in. Well, today was their lucky day, because slung across Rick’s back was a bag that was obscenely heavy with rice and oats. Rick turned to smile at Daryl, who had fallen in place just behind him, a few feet from the pond’s edge, but he found Daryl’s body taut, eyes squinted, and his bow raised at one of the ducks waddling over to them with hope gleaming in his little bird eyes. 

“No!” Rick cried and he shoved Daryl’s shoulder hard enough to throw his balance. Daryl’s finger slipped against the trigger and the arrow was sent flying—it stuck in the grass a few feet from its intended target. 

“What the hell man?” Daryl snapped. 

“You’re not meant to kill them! They’re—they’re—”

“What the hell are you talking about? We can’t leave ‘em behind, Rick! We got hungry mouths back home. You knew this was here all along ’n’ you didn’t say nothin’? They’re sitting ducks! Literally! We coulda been eatin’!”

Rick frowned deeply and looked back toward the duck Daryl had nearly killed. It had flapped away and was keeping a careful distance from them now, thanks to all the ruckus. Rick knew Daryl was right. It was valuable food, but Rick’s childhood memories prevented him of ever considering these birds that way. They were meant to be admired. Fed, not hunted. Rick’s stomach churned. He felt like he was going to be sick. 

“Why’s everything gotta change? Can’t some things just be as they _were_?” Rick said softly. He could hear the disappointment lacing his voice. 

And Daryl must have heard it too, because instead of protesting any further, he went quiet and then said, “Hey. Hey, now. It’s alright.” He clapped a hand over Rick’s shoulder, an awkward gesture of friendly comfort. “I won’t kill any of ‘em, alright? I shoulda known better. I wasn’t thinkin’.”

“No, you’re right. I’m bein’ dumb. It’s good meat, and back home we need…” Rick’s eyes watered. God, he was so weak! He sucked in a hard breath and shook his head to fight back the tears.

“Naw. Naw, man, none of that! Hush up now. We didn’t come to this pretty little part of Georgia just to muck it up by showin’ it all the blood and gore it’d been missin’. If we gonna be livin’ here one day, might as well make good with the roommates, right?” Daryl clapped Rick’s shoulder again and smiled at him. 

Rick was overwhelmed with gratitude. Rick realized that this moment with Daryl was entirely unique—unable to be recreated by anyone but the two of them. Lori or Carl would have been embarrassed by his weakness—if he even dared show it to them. Shane would have laughed in his face and killed the bird anyway. In fact, most sensible people would have killed it because really, if Rick was being honest with himself, they should. The apocalypse was hardly the place to be acting irrationally for the sake of _ducks_. Any one of those people back at the prison would have done the same as Shane: brushed away Rick’s feelings with a scoff and then do what had to be done. But not Daryl. He let up the moment he saw what it meant to Rick. Daryl saw the look in his eyes, the slump in his shoulders, heard that tiny, childlike murmur, and he was ready to do whatever necessary to make Rick okay again, no questions, no judgement. 

Whenever Rick showed vulnerability, it was always thrown right back at him. He was never allowed to feel it because he was a boy, then a man, a cop, a husband, a father, and now a leader. There was no room for it, so those parts of him were squashed out and shamed into near nonexistence. Never did Rick dare imagine a person he could show that vulnerability to without fear of ridicule, and yet there he was! Standing right beside him, the very picture of unconditional compassion. Rick realized he didn’t just like seeing Daryl’s vulnerabilities—he liked showing him his own, too. He liked that they could be their honest selves together. He got to see parts of Daryl that no one else did, and in return, Daryl received the same from him. Standing there, with Daryl’s solid hand resting over his shoulder, Rick had never felt more cared for, or understood. Rick looked up, and it was Daryl’s kind eyes and tentative smile, like Rick wasn’t an embarrassment at all but a _treasure,_ that made the tears fall. 

Rick heaved a short, gasping sob when they slipped past his eyes and rolled down his cheeks, and then his body was trembling under the onslaught. Daryl looked utterly bewildered by the sudden shift, but he solidified his grip on Rick’s shoulder, communicating effortlessly: “I’m here, I’ve got you,” and without thinking, Rick ducked his head down and barreled against Daryl’s body. Rick wrapped his arms tight around Daryl’s middle and Daryl’s threw his arms around Rick, free of hesitation. Daryl held him hard against his chest as Rick cried against his shirt. 

He should have been embarrassed, but instead he felt liberated, like Daryl’s acceptance of him in this moment was setting free butterflies inside of him that had been caged up his whole life. It felt _right_ to be in Daryl’s arms. It was as if they had always been this way, and would always remain, and they could live these lives a thousand times over but they’d always end up back here, holding each other by the Pickering Park duck pond because there was so much _love_ vibrating between them, how could the two of them end up any other way but this? The tears caught in Rick’s throat right along with his breath. His body tensed up and his heart raced because _there it was_ —the truth in all of this. Rick was in love with Daryl. And it was never a matter of _if_ or _when_ it would happen, because it always was. Rick loved Daryl from the moment he saw him. Before that, even! How did Rick not see it sooner? 

“Sorry,” Daryl said uncomfortably. He patted Rick’s back in an awkward attempt to make what had just transpired between them a bit more platonic than it had any business being. He took a step back and Rick’s arms fell away, suddenly purposeless. Confused and uncomfortable, Rick decided to use the cuffs of his shirt to wipe away any wetness left on his face as he studied Daryl. Daryl’s eyes were downcast. He chewed at a fingernail in his mouth and kicked at the grass with the toe of his shoe with a gentle sway to his body that made Rick think he was trying very hard not run away. Rick’s heart trembled feebly. Had Daryl not felt what Rick just had? Rick had felt enough love between them that the whole world could drown in it—and that seemed like a pretty hard thing to miss if you’re half of the necessary input to that equation. 

“Why are you sorry?” Rick asked.

Daryl shrugged and looked to the ducks in the pond. They were kicking around joyfully. “I didn’t mean to hug ya,” he said. A rapid blush overtook his face. 

Rick smiled and looked to the duck pond, too. “I don’t know what you’re talking about honey,” he said, “I’m the one who did it. And I’m not one bit sorry for it, either.” He looked to Daryl, and Daryl met the look. Rick’s gaze was challenging, daring him to say something, but Daryl only blushed brighter and looked away. 

“I was promised some lunch,” Daryl reminded him. Rick laughed and shook his head. Maybe he should have been angry, or at least irritated that Daryl was insisting they keep up this game of cat and mouse, but Rick was surprisingly at ease with it. His revelation left a warm feeling in his belly. He knew the truth now: Daryl loved him, even if he didn’t know it himself yet. They were meant to be. Daryl would come around, Rick would make sure of it. It was only a matter of time. 

Rick pulled his backpack off his shoulders. He dropped it to the ground and pulled out what he’d brought. He spread out the quilt on the grass with help from Daryl, then he took the food out and threw it on top. Daryl hummed appreciatively and dropped down onto the blanket, already reaching to open up the canned ham before Rick even had it all out. Finally, Rick pulled out the gallon-sized ziplock of feed and dropped it down. Daryl looked at it for a moment and once he registered what it was for, he nodded his approval.

“Good to know yer feedin’ ‘em proper. So many people give ‘em bread, havin’ no idea it’s bad for ‘em,” he said.

“Yeah. My dad taught me what to feed them. I liked bringing cut grapes back in the day. Figured that I liked them a whole lot, so the ducks must, too. This stuff works too, though.” Rick picked up the bag of grain and pulled it open. He dunked his hand inside and pulled out a handful, which he scattered across the grass near the water’s edge. The ducks flew up from the pond and landed back down at his feet. They nibbled at the grains and Rick smiled. When he turned back around, he saw Daryl slicing up meat and tomatoes with careful precision. 

“You come here a lot? With yer dad?” he asked. 

Rick walked back to the quilt and plopped down the sealed bag of grain. He bent down to steal a thin-sliced piece of tomato from the pile Daryl had cut, and sat down beside him.

“I came here a lot period,” Rick said, “When I was little, yeah, my dad took me. Once I got older though, I came on my own. Whenever I needed to get away, this is where I’d end up. I’ve done a lot of homework here with them.” He nodded over to the ducks and chuckled. “A lot of thinkin’, too. It was always busy during the day, but if I came at night, it was usually just me. It’s kinda nice watchin’ them. Can’t be mad when you do it. They suck all the bad emotion right outta you.”

Daryl grunted his agreement, and knocked Rick’s shoulder to hand him a cracker topped him ham and tomato. Rick took it gratefully. He chewed slowly and watched the ducks play. He could feel the unspoken question in the air, but he was unsure whether he ought to answer. When he swallowed, he decided there was no use holding back anymore. 

“I’ve never brought anyone here before,” he said.

Daryl was chewing his own cracker, but he looked over at Rick and swallowed quickly. “You ever think about bringing Carl?” he asked.

“If we end up here in two years, it’ll be inevitable, I guess. I dunno. Would kinda like to keep it as mine, just a little longer.”

“But you brought me here,” Daryl said.

“Yeah,” Rick smiled over at him. “I did.” 

For the next few hours, the two of them ate until the food was gone and they were languid from full bellies and the type of genuine relaxation that was so rare these days. The conversation flowed freely. The safety and privacy of their secret grove brought out a rambunctiousness in Daryl that Rick had never seen. He talked loudly. He made jokes, and laughed at Rick’s without restraint. He said more than he ever did, because there was no one around to overhear and it, and because it didn’t really matter what Daryl said, Rick always looked at him with unwavering adoration. Rick knew that this version of Daryl was as elusive and vulnerable as the one he’d got to know that night back in the prison. He basked in the glow of Daryl’s generosity. He gave himself over to Rick endlessly, with every look, every smile, every word. And each time he thought he couldn’t possibly love Daryl any more, he’d be proven wrong a few minutes later by the overwhelming sensation of that well of emotion in his heart tunneling a little deeper. 

If Rick dare think it, it appeared Daryl had been similarly swept up by their afternoon together. Rick’s undivided attention seemed to nourish his confidence. He lapped up every bit of validation Rick offered, like he was dying of thirst and Rick’s approval was a freshwater spring. It kept him rolling from one conversation to the next until he was talking about even off-limit things, things from his past. He never made it too serious. He only mentioned details offhand, or made the occasional joke, but Rick committed every bit of it to memory, honored that he’d been trusted with another piece of Daryl. It made his stomach flutter to know that Daryl could talk to him like this: completely unguarded. 

Even more enthralling was how Daryl’s attitude towards Rick shifted, right before his eyes. Over time, Daryl adopted that same starry-eyed look that Rick wore. Each time Rick talked, Daryl leaned in—slight enough that he probably didn’t notice it himself—and hung on Rick’s every word like it was gospel and not some stupid comment about how the best dessert hands down is homemade peach pie, or a story about a particularly troublesome perp he and Shane brought in one time, or a hypothesis that Maggie could beat Glenn in a fist-fight. It didn’t matter what Rick had to say, Daryl wanted to hear it. 

Likewise, time turned the careful distance between them into no distance at all. Daryl reached out to touch Rick freely, and often. It started with a dribble of lemonade that slipped down Rick’s chin while he was sipping from the mason jar they’d passed back and forth. Without warning, Daryl reached across the space between them and swiped the liquid away with his thumb—and then licked his thumb clean with a quick tongue and a lazy smile. Rick’s eyes darkened at the sight of it, and Daryl blushed and looked away, like he had only just realized what he’d done. Not much long after that though, he scooted closer to Rick so that their thighs were touching near the knee. And later on, he leaned over to Rick and tucked a few flyaway strands behind his ear. They were so close that Rick could feel Daryl’s exhale over his lips, and he felt sure that Daryl would kiss him. But instead, Daryl smiled, turned around, and leaned back against his shoulder. They were like that for a long while: Rick sitting criss-cross, arms behind him, and Daryl leaning back against Rick’s shoulder with his legs outstretched. It was about as close as two men could get while still keeping their contact companionate. Rick had half a mind to change that ‘round real quick—all it would take was Rick’s arm looping around Daryl’s chest, a kiss planted to the top of his head—but he knew better than to initiate romantic contact with his lovely little flight-risk. _In due time_ , Rick told himself, _have patience_. 

Daryl finished feeding the ducks for the third time that day and walked back to the quilt where Rick was stretched out. The evening sky had been quickly darkening for the last half hour. Daryl looked up to it and sighed dejectedly.

“Should probably head back,” he said. His voice sounded small and defeated, and though there was nothing wrong with home, or the people there, Rick understood his bitterness about having to return. This time together had been everything Rick had dared hope for and more—he didn’t want to see it end either. How long before they could have this again? Who knew how Daryl would feel about it tomorrow? Rick looked up at Daryl in his new clothes, with his wind-tossed hair and sparkling eyes, oceans deep with love, and he knew he couldn’t bear to go back yet. Rick pushed himself up off the ground and closed the distance between him and Daryl. He clasped Daryl’s hands in his own and looked into those beautiful blue eyes he’d fallen so madly in love with over the course of that perfect summer day. 

“Let’s not. Not tonight,” Rick whispered.

“What? We can’t stay here,” Daryl said.

“We’ll go somewhere else. We’ll find a place to lay up for the night. I’m not ready to go back.”

“The others will be worried sick.”

“They’re already worried sick. We’ve been gone all day. It’s late enough, they probably aren’t even expecting us back tonight. Come _on_ , Daryl,” Rick’s eyes coaxed him, and he could see Daryl soften to it. Rick poured his heart into final plea. He said, “Just a little longer? Please?”

And Daryl breathed out, raspy and sweet, the only thing Rick wanted to hear him say: “Okay.”


	4. Chapter 4

Rick found himself and Daryl standing in front of a pharmacy in a small commercial lot, not even a ten minute drive from Pickering Park. They hadn’t yet decided where they were going to spend the night, but Rick suggested they track down some booze before they settled anywhere and Daryl eagerly agreed. The windows and doors of the pharmacy had been boarded up, but a few minutes of work between the two of them resulted in enough of the wood planks broken up and removed that they could slip through the main door. It was dark inside without any power, but once their eyes adjusted, they found the place to be surprisingly in tact. They did a sweep and found the shelves full and neat. The only indication of the apocalypse outside was the thick layer of dust coating everything, and the store manager’s decayed corpse in the break room with a gun in his hand and a shot to his head. As soon as Rick nodded his confirmation of the all clear, Daryl heaved a tremendous sigh and threw his bow up on his shoulder. He lead the way through the aisles, looking over the supplies with tired eyes.

“Didn’t think this place would be so loaded,” he said.

“There’s not too much around these parts. There’s nothing but forest on two sides. Can’t imagine many people head this far into the outskirts,” Rick replied.

“Yeah,” Daryl said, and sighed. He ran his fingers over the rows of pill bottles. There was everything. Painkillers, cold medicine, multivitamins. There was even more in the caged off room at the back of the store: the kind of pills that could save lives. “Know I shouldn’t complain. It’s a good haul. Should we get started loading this stuff up?”

Rick shook his head. “It’s already dark. We’ll board up the door again when we leave, and send another team out to clear it out later on. For now, let’s get what we came here for. Before we head out, we can stuff my pack with the most valuable meds.”

Daryl seemed satisfied with that, and a little relieved, too. He gave Rick a short nod and lead the way back to the cold case on the far right of the store. Rick followed, and a minute later they were standing side-by-side, Rick with his hands on his hips, Daryl shouldering his bow, examining their warm beer options. Budweiser, Coors, Miller…Rick’s nose scrunched up in disgust. Even with the entire cheap beer selection available to them, none of it looked the least bit appealing. Plus, Rick suspected that crushin’ cans with Daryl through the evening would devolve this date right back into their typical companionable relationship. He’d fought all day to get past friendship; he couldn’t let that progress slide back now. 

Rick turned to Daryl and said, “Would you sock me if I suggested wine instead?”

Daryl huffed a one-note laugh out through his nose. “Whatever makes you happy, man,” he said. Daryl swiveled around to look at the wine options on the shelves opposite the cold case. Rick turned around too, and set to work looking over the labels for something familiar. Then Daryl said, “Gotta tell ya though, I don’t drink nothin’ that don’t come in a box.” Rick, who had just reached for a bottle, froze, pulled his hand halfway back, and looked at Daryl incredulously. He gnawed at his lip and glanced down at the boxed wines on the lowest shelf.

“They’re kinda hard to carry ‘round,” he said in a tentative whisper.

Daryl laughed out loud and clapped Rick on his shoulder. “Jeez Rick, I’m fuckin’ with ya. I might be a hick, but it’s not like I’m committed ta the hick tradition. Grab yer fancy fuck bottle of grape juice. Hell, grab two.” Rick flushed violently and snatched up two bottles. He swung his backpack off his shoulders, opened it, and shoved them inside. Once the zipper was done up, Daryl bent over and took the pack from Rick. He said, “I’m gonna head ’n the back ’n’ grab the meds. Look ‘round out here, see if there’s anything we oughta take, yeah?” Rick nodded quickly and Daryl walked to the cage while he shrugged on Rick’s pack. 

As Rick watched him go, the blush faded from his cheeks. Once Daryl ducked out of sight, Rick took up his task and started pursuing the aisles in search of unnamed necessities. He went through the most promising aisles at a stroll. While there was plenty of good supplies, none of it demanded immediate transport back to the prison. However, Rick did find a couple of battery-powered lantern-style table lights. He grabbed two of them and a pack of batteries, reasoning that wherever he and Daryl wound up for the night, they could benefit from a bit of light.

Rick was looking through the food aisle when he heard Daryl’s clamoring in the back cease. It was too sudden of a stop: it sent Rick’s gut churning. The things in his arms were dropped, his python unholstered and raised, and Rick was running to the pharmacy cage ready to decimate whatever dared threaten Daryl. Except when Rick ran through the doorway, Daryl wasn’t fighting walkers, he wasn’t at gunpoint, or in any danger whatsoever. He was only standing there, bent over and staring into the small pocket of Rick’s backpack with wide eyes and a face drained of color. Rick’s churning gut fell through the floor. 

Rick lowered his gun. “Daryl, I—I, uh…” He holstered his weapon and rubbed his hands over his face. There was no way to explain this away. How could Rick have been so dumb? He let his guard down and forgot that there was still plenty of things he wasn’t ready to share with Daryl—things that could jeopardize everything they’d built together.

Daryl reached into the pocket and pulled it out slowly. The metallic face glinted brightly, even in the dark. Daryl ran his trembling fingers over it. Back when he had first seen it, he had touched it with the same feather-like hesitancy, like he’d been afraid to break it, but now there was a new element there: he looked at it like he couldn’t quite believe he was seeing it, eyes glazed over, dreamlike. He touched it like it would disintegrate at any moment.

He said, terribly soft, “What’s this, Rick?” Daryl didn’t look over to him, even when Rick took a couple of determined steps forward and closed the distance between them. Daryl straightened up slowly and brought the watch up to his eyes to look at the detail. Rick’s heart hammered as he stood and watched Daryl, and as Rick watched, it dawned on him that Daryl’s childlike wonder had returned, same as that day in the mall, and it gave Rick the courage to say, “It’s your watch, Daryl.”

“You’ve had it all this time? It’s been months,” Daryl said. Now he did look at Rick—his eyes were huge, and brighter than Rick had ever seen them. The sight of it pulled at his heart and made his whole body burn with longing. Suddenly, Rick felt proud of what he’d done, not ashamed, because the way Daryl looked at him—as if he were a daydream come to life—was everything he never knew he needed.

“Yeah,” Rick said on a delicate out breath. 

“Why?”

“Because I knew that one day, you’d want it,” he replied. Daryl’s reaction to the watch was enough that Rick knew he wasn’t wrong: Daryl _did_ want the watch. He wanted it, not one day, on _this_ day. His eyes darted between the watch and his wrist, considering the possibility, envisioning what that sleek symbol of old-world luxury would look like wrapped around his body. Carefully, he lifted the watch and held it against his left wrist. He wrapped the band around and looked at the way it hung there, barely balanced, unclasped. His whole body was tensed to keep it from slipping away, but Daryl couldn’t curb the tremors rolling through him. He was crushed under the weight of his protesting mind. Something flickered behind those wonder-filled eyes and hope fell from Daryl’s face.

“I told you already, I don’t deserve this kinda thing,” he said. The disappointment was heavy in his voice, and it awakened an dormant anger inside Rick’s gut. His hands flew out and gripped Daryl’s wrist. He held the watch there, hard against Daryl’s skin. The intensity of the movement startled Daryl, and his eyes flew up to Rick’s. Their gaze held steady, and the heat of the sun’s surface was ablaze between them.

Rick whispered fiercely, “You deserve every bit of good this world has to offer. Fuck _anyone_ who’s ever told you different.”

Daryl looked at Rick, shocked, like he didn’t believe what Rick was saying. But he couldn’t deny it either, not with the insistent power behind Rick’s words. Rick knew that Daryl trusted the things he said, and more often than not, took his word as fact. Rick could see the gears turning inside Daryl’s head: if Rick thought that Daryl deserved the watch, then…maybe he did. Daryl looked back to his wrist, still held tight in Rick’s grasp. The hands fell away and Rick took a step back. A clear message: the choice is yours. A beat passed before he decided.

Daryl pulled in a shaky breath and clasped the watch with fast, attentive fingers. He let his arm fall back to his side and he shook it a bit to adjust to the weight of it. With a sidelong glance down to the watch, he examined the look of it on him. Even though it was fairly plain compared to others of the same brand, there was no denying that it looked expensive. The materials were fine and the design was expertly crafted. It suited him well, in Rick’s opinion. It seemed to change the man’s whole appearance. His long hair looked intentional instead of unkempt. His well-defined muscles looked like those of a male model, carefully crafted in a home gym, instead of the accidental byproduct of a long life of hard-labor. Rick realized the full potential of the man before him: Daryl could have been any number of things, had he only been born to different circumstances. This man had the capacity to be a model, or a business tycoon, a world leader, a scientist, a widely adored actor, _anything_. Rick hoped there existed other realities where Daryl got to be every one of those things. But for this reality, Rick was grateful to have Daryl as he existed, _his_ Daryl—insecure, but growing; vulnerable, but unafraid—and Rick was grateful for the watch that brought all of that out in him, and more. The watch was a hint at all of Daryl’s hidden capacities. It revealed the endless depth to the love of Rick’s life, Daryl Dixon. 

When Daryl glanced up to gauge Rick’s opinion, he saw smiling eyes, filled with emotion. Rick was beaming with pride. When Rick had slipped the watch into his pack last night, it was motivated by a distant idea, a hopeful “what if,” that had been lodged in Rick’s heart since he’d first grabbed it off the floor in that mall. Never did he expect that hope to come to fruition tonight, yet it had. Daryl had put the watch on. 

Daryl shifted on his feet and shoved his hands into his pockets, unsure of what to do with them under Rick’s attention. He cleared his throat and shifted again. “I already got the fancy fuck car, ’n’ clothes, ’n’ Rick Grimes, ’n’ his bottles of wine. Figure I might as well complete the pretty pi’ture. What the hell, right?” He twisted his lips to the side and looked to his shoes. 

Rick grinned. “Yeah, what the hell. It’s just the night for a watch like that. Makes you look like a model for Vogue.” Daryl looked up at him with huge eyes. Rick smirked and winked at him. A bright flush sprang to life on Daryl’s face, from the tops of his ears, all the way down his neck. Rick laughed and turned out of the cage, saying over his shoulder that Daryl oughta finish up with the meds. It wasn’t until Rick had rounded the corner and way out of sight, but eventually Daryl found his bearings and the clamor started up again.

A few minutes later, Rick and Daryl were tossing the loaded backpack and a few choice items, including the lanterns Rick had found, into the car’s trunk. It took a few more minutes for them to board the door of the pharmacy back up, but it wasn’t long before they were finished and ready to go. 

They decided to check out an apartment-complex-turned-motel right beside the shopping center they were parked in. They drove the car over to the apartment’s lot, if only to have it closer in case they needed to make a quick getaway. When they climbed out of the car, Daryl looked up to the weather-worn hand-painted “Motel” sign, barely visible by the light of the waxing moon, and snorted. 

“What?” Rick asked with a grin.

“I didn’t even realize. Yer takin’ me to a motel,” Daryl mumbled. He shook his head, a small smirk gracing his lips. “If I didn’t know better, Grimes…”

Rick flushed and quickly busied himself with going around to the back to grab the wine and the lanterns. Daryl took his crossbow and a bottle from Rick to help lighten the load. Then, he lead the way around to the building’s front through the intricate white-iron gates. 

They wandered through the main courtyard, an open-air garden strip that was about thirty feet wide and twice as long. If it wasn’t for the obnoxious sign, and Room #1 to the immediate left being painted with the words, “Lobby,” Rick would have never suspected this place had been converted. It was designed to be an intimate apartment complex with Mexican style architecture. The main path down the middle was paved with red tinted concrete that matched the clay shingles of the roof. There was a large fountain in the middle of the open airspace, still trickling, though the water was low and green. The path was framed on either side by hand planted flower bushes and small trees. They were alive and bloomed despite the summer heat, same as the plants in Pickering Park. Past the flowers were the rooms—six doorways on each side, and two stories high. A little stone walkway broke up the flowers to make an entrance to each room on the bottom floor. Three quarters of the way down the main path were two curved staircases, made from the same material as the front gate. The stairs lead up to a balcony to access the rooms on the second floor. At the end of the main path lay an elevator which looked strangely high-tech for the traditional style the rest of the building embodied. It was painted the same light brown as the building’s walls, an attempt to make it blend into the scenery around it. 

God, it was romantic. Rick couldn’t have found a better place if he tried. He looped back around to the fountain, and dropped down on the edge of it with a dramatic, relaxed sigh. Daryl looked over at him confusedly and jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at one the rooms. 

“Shouldn’t we clear this place out?” he asked. “Gotta pick out a room. There’s probably one with two beds.”

Rick waved his hand. “Forget all that. Sounds quiet enough to me. If there are any here, it’s not like they can get out, and I’m not in any mood to kill ‘em. Come over here. Let’s open one of these bottles.” Rick shot him a smile and wiggled the wine bottle at Daryl to entice him. Daryl shifted on his feet, but quickly conceded and made his way over to where Rick sat on the fountain. He unpackaged the lanterns and put batteries in them while Rick opened the wine bottle with a corkscrew. Just as the bottle released with a quiet _pop_ , Daryl flicked the switch of the first lantern on and the space around them filled with a soft, yellow glow. Rick smiled and Daryl smiled back. Rick took a lazy sip from the bottle as he watched Daryl do the same procedure with the second lantern, opening it up, inserting batteries, and flicking it on. Once he was done, he collected up the packaging, walked over to the lobby and rapped on the door. When he heard no movement inside, he swung the door open and tossed the garbage in. When he closed it behind him, he looked up and saw Rick watching him with a narrowed eyes and gentle smile.

“Did you just get rid of the trash?” Rick asked.

He grunted and shrugged. Then he said, “It’s nice out here. Didn’t wanna ruin it.” 

That pulled a far-reaching smile out of Rick, and Daryl blushed. He made his way back toward the fountain. It was now awash with the golden light from the lanterns. As he approached, Rick held the bottle out for him, and Daryl reached to take it. Once it passed into his hand, he tipped it back against his lips and drank generously. Rick watched Daryl as he stood in the dim glow, one hand tipping back the bottle, the other holding his crossbow loosely by his side. It was an image Rick wanted burned into his brain forever: Daryl’s windblown hair, the broad shoulders and strong arms barely contained by the shirt Rick picked out for him, his worn vest that Rick had long come to associate with stability and protection hanging off of his chiseled frame, those long, muscular legs hugged by his jeans, the sleek shoes, and glinting watch. Rick was struck dumb by how perfect Daryl looked and before he could think better of it, he said, “You look expensive. Like you oughta be doin’ an interview on David Letterman, not hangin’ out with me drinkin’ wine.”

Daryl gulped hard around the fluid in his throat and snorted. He pulled the bottle back and wiped the wine of his top lip with the back of his hand, looking at Rick with a mixture of skepticism and amusement. 

“I’d think yer jokin’ but I hear that yer not,” he said. He dropped his eyes and shook his head. “Been thinkin’ the same thing ‘bout you all day, Grimes.” His lips quirked up into a smile. He walked over to the fountain and sat on it beside Rick, passing the bottle off to him. Rick received it graciously and took a hearty drink of his own. Both of them seemed in a rush to get loose-limbed drunk. Daryl looked at Rick as he drank, his eyes lingering over Rick’s lips pressed against the bottle. Rick released the bottle with a smack and licked his lips. His stomach tumbled when he saw Daryl’s eyes darken. He lowered the bottle between his knees and waited for Daryl’s eyes to meet his. But they never did. Daryl’s eyes stayed focused on Rick’s mouth, wet with wine and spit, until Daryl tore them away and looked up to the sky.

“Moon looks nice tonight,” he said casually, and if Rick hadn’t recognized the lust burning in his eyes just seconds before, he would have never suspected Daryl’s thoughts were anything but innocent. 

Rick ran a hand over the scruff on his chin and looked away. How long had Daryl wanted him? It seems that he’d had a lifetime of practice when it came to suppressing his feelings. It was insane. Rick had barely lasted the day with throwing Daryl up against a tree and kissing him stupid. Wanting Rick must have been torture for Daryl, and for who knows how long. The two of them were practically glued at the hip since they found the prison. Rick brain started running through their every interaction. Each casual touch, sidelong glance, or kind word Rick had directed to Daryl over the months carried a new, heartbreaking undercurrent. Rick thought he was being a good friend, but what if all that time, he was doing nothing but stirring up internal conflict for Daryl? How had he managed to live with that? More importantly, why would Daryl choose to keep wallowing in misery, when Rick was practically begging for him? Rick knew that Daryl loved him, but he still didn’t know what was holding him back.

“I want to get to know you better,” Rick said suddenly.

Daryl looked at him with a raised brow. “Got to know me plenty today,” he said.

“I know, and I appreciate that, but…” Rick frowned and looked to the bottle between his hands. He ran his thumb over the mouthpiece. What was the best way to put this? “I guess what I mean is that I liked getting to know you today, and I’d like to know more.”

Daryl sighed and rolled his eyes. He made a motion for the bottle and Rick passed it over. He took a few long gulps and then passed it back to Rick, who did the same. Already, the bottle was three-quarters of the way down.

“Okay,” Daryl said decisively. He reoriented his body toward Rick, clapped his hands down on his thighs, and rubbed them briskly in preparation of whatever was to come. “Ask me what ya wanna know. I might not answer, but go ‘head ’n’ ask. I’ll do my best.”

Rick turned toward Daryl. He furrowed his brow and looked down into the murky water in the fountain. He wasn’t sure what to ask. If he was too direct, his question would go unanswered. If he was too vague, he wouldn’t learn what he needed to. Worse yet, if Rick said something that gave away his romantic intentions, Daryl might pull back entirely. There had been plenty of tension mounting between them throughout the day, but neither of them had directly acknowledged it. Rick could shatter this fragile relationship they’d built if he broke some unspoken rule. He was drunk enough to chance it, too. He took another gulp of the wine and shook his head.

“Do you maybe want to play a game?” he asked. Daryl immediately tensed up and Rick quickly added, “A new game.”

Daryl sucked his lip into his mouth and chewed at it. He said, “What were ya thinkin’?” 

“Why don’t you just tell me somethin’. Somethin’ I don’t know, or maybe somethin’ nobody knows. We’ll take turns.”

“You wanna swap secrets?” Daryl said, with a scrunched brow. “Didn’t think we were lil girls at a slumber party.”

Rick socked his shoulder and rolled his eyes theatrically. “Shut up, Daryl. God, I knew you’d say that. It don’t gotta be like that. I just wanna get to know you, is all. You got a better idea?”

Daryl laughed through his nose. Then he shrugged and shook his head. “Nah. I’ll play. But you gotta go first. And you gotta open up that second bottle, ‘cause I’m ‘bout to polish this ‘ne off.” He snatched up the bottle from Rick’s hand and chugged the last of it. Once it was drained, smacked his lips playfully and set the empty bottle aside. Rick smirked at him as he reached to open the second bottle. A few turns of the corkscrew later, it popped open. Rick took a sip of it and passed it to Daryl. 

Rick’s head was fuzzy from the wine, and he was feeling brave. He had half a mind to come out the gates with it, tell Daryl the secret that was pulsing through his bloodstream all day: I’m in love with you. But he knew he had to ease into this. Take it slow, like he did the first time. An elusive man like Daryl was easily spooked; it was best to chip away at his defenses bit by bit. So, Rick thought of a story that, while personal, he wasn’t opposed to sharing with his best friend. 

“In elementary school—it was third grade, I think—there was this kid in my class named Cory. Me and Shane had been tryin’ to get in good with him for a while, ‘cause he was real popular, but it was a one step forward, two steps back sort of situation. But one night, he invited me to spend the night at his place, and I was over the moon. It was my first sleepover, and it wasn’t just us, it was all of Cory’s friends. Half a dozen boys, just about. Best part was that it was _me_ they invited, not Shane. Shane always got picked over me in everything, so I was real excited for the tables to be turned for once. These boys were real cool too, just like Cory. They all played baseball together. I didn’t do nothin’ like that. I was on the chess team.” Daryl snorted at that and Rick gave him a dirty look. “Hush up. If you laugh, I won’t finish tellin’ it. The evening went great. We ended up sleepin’ on this mess of blankets and pillows in Cory’s living room. I was right in the middle of ‘em all, and damn was I happy to have all these new friends. But then comes the next mornin’. I woke up to the others laughin’. They were standing over me, pitchin’ a fit, pointing, and laughing ’til they couldn’t breath. I looked down and I realized I wet the bed.” 

Daryl’s fist flew to his mouth and he bit hard on his first knuckle. He body trembled, and he was red-faced with suppressed laughter. Rick rolled his eyes again. “Yes, haha, very funny,” he said, and Daryl lost it. He devolved into a fit of laughter, barely able to choke out the words between gasps for air, “God—Rick—I just—I just can’t—can’t imagine you doin’ that.”

“I didn’t. I had fantastic bladder control when I was a kid, thank you very much. The little punks did the warm water trick.”

“Aw, shit man, that’s fuckin’ terrible,” Daryl said, his laugher barely relenting. He wiped his palms over his watering eyes. 

“I called on the house phone for my dad to come pick me up. He was just as embarrassed as me, I think. What’s worse is that none of those boys talked to me again, all the way through high school. And they stayed popular too, which meant that I was left on the outside. Shane too, by association alone. None of them would give him the time of day ‘cause of that stupid sleepover. Truth was, he would’ve fit in with ‘em great. He asked me ‘bout it a couple times, but I never wanted to tell him the truth. I didn’t want to know I was holding him back. ‘What the hell’d you do to make them hate us so much?’ he’d ask. And I’d always tell him the same thing. I’d say, ‘I didn’t do anything. It’s you they hate. They said you bitch like a damn woman.’ Now that wasn’t true, but Shane did bitch all the time, so it was at least believable. I think it gave him a complex, though. If I ever told him he sounded like a woman, he’d shut his mouth so fast and freeze me out for days…never did have the heart to tell him that the silent treatment was my wife’s favorite move, too.”

Daryl had gone on laughing as Rick talked. When he finished his story, Daryl shook his head and let the last of his laughter die out. Finally, when he regained control of his breathing, he whistled and said, “Damn man, should’ve told me that sooner. If I woulda known being called a woman was his magic off switch, I woulda heard a whole lot less from the loudmouth.” 

Rick chuckled at that, and took another sip from the wine bottle. They were both quiet for while until Rick said, “I always thought to myself I’d kill him before I told him the truth about Cory Wentworth’s sleepover. Guess I meant it literally. What a great fucking friend I am, huh?”

“Hey. That couldn’t be helped, Rick. You know that. How many times do I gotta tell ya before ya forgive yerself?” 

Rick shook his head and shrugged. He gave Daryl a rueful smile and took another sip. “He was my best friend from the time we were five. And I murdered him. Murdered him and immediately filled that spot in my life with a better man,” Rick said, “Worst part is, I don’t regret it. I’d do it a thousand times over the exact same, because I like it better this way. I like you better.”

Daryl chewed his lip. A few seconds of silence passed between them before Daryl motioned for the wine bottle and Rick passed it over. Daryl took a long gulp, like the wine would give him courage, and perhaps it did, because then Daryl said, “I like it better this way too. I fucking hated Shane. Hated him. I was glad when you killed him, ‘cause it saved me from doin’ it. I didn’t wanna, ‘cause I knew you woulda never forgiven me. Nobody woulda. Y’all woulda sent me packin’, and I understand why. But there was only so much more of that man I could take.” 

Rick blinked. His eyes were wide with shock, but Daryl couldn’t see. He was looking to his shoes, rolling a small rock back and forth across the pavement. Rick cleared his throat and said, “I didn’t realize you felt that way about him.”

Daryl shrugged. “Good at hiding stuff,” he said, “Been doin’ it my whole life.” He sighed and looked up to the sky, determined to keep his attention anywhere that wasn’t Rick.

“Why’d you hate him?”

“He didn’t treat ya right. Didn’t look at ya right. That man had it out for ya, Rick. Yer lucky he didn’t kill ya in yer sleep. And damn it, you always gave him another chance. Way too trusting of the fucker. It was exhausting, always havin’ to watch your back ‘cause you wouldn’t do it for yerself.”

Rick frowned deeply. “What are you saying?” he asked.

Daryl looked down at him and Rick could see anger etched across his face. This was something that had been brewing in Daryl for a long time. Yet, Rick hadn’t even realized that Daryl had been watching his back like that since the farm. They weren’t even friends that long ago, or at least Rick didn’t think they were. But Daryl cared enough about Rick to be willing to kill Shane if it meant protecting him. Rick’s stomach did an anxious somersault. Again, Rick wanted to ask Daryl, 'How long? How long have you wanted me?' For the first time, Rick was considering a time far earlier than he would have originally predicted.

“Forget it,” Daryl said. He twirled the wine bottle around in his hands. “It s’posed to be my turn?”

Rick didn’t know who’s turn it was, but he nodded anyway. After all, the goal of this game was to get Daryl talking. If he was willing, Rick wouldn’t stop him. Daryl took a sip from the bottle and stared off into the distance, like his mind was somewhere very far away from there in that apartment complex garden with Rick. He took another sip and chewed at his lip. When he pulled his gaze back to Rick, his face was relaxed and open.

“I don’t really know what’s worth tellin’. You say you wanna know more ‘bout me, but I ain’t nothin’ special. I don’t got any funny stories ‘bout goin’ over to nobody’s house ’n’ blowin’ it. I hardly ever talked to anyone ’n’ school. Everyone thought I was some sorta freak, ‘cause I was a Dixon, and my face was always beat, ’n’ I smelled like shit ‘cause the water bill never got paid. Truth is, I never had any friends.” Daryl looked down at the rock at his feet and started rolling it under his shoe again. For a while, all was quiet except for the soft grating stone, the trickle of the fountain behind them, and Rick’s shallow breaths. Then Daryl spoke again, so soft it was less than a whisper, and if the night around them wasn’t so quiet, Rick wouldn’t have heard him at all. He said, “Most my life, the only person I was ever close with was my brother. And I didn’t even like him.”

Rick licked his lips and leaned toward Daryl. “What do you mean?” he said.

“I mean I didn’t have nobody growin’ up. Parents were shit. Didn’t have no friends, never dated nobody…It was just me ’n’ Merle, my whole life. And when Merle was gone, off with his friends or girlfriends, locked up in jail, runnin’ from the pigs, or wherever it was he’d get to all the damn time, then I was alone.”

Rick didn’t say anything. He didn’t know _what_ to say. So, he nodded his understanding and looked to his hands, clasped tight and hanging in the space between his legs. Rick suspected as much about Daryl’s past. He didn’t seem comfortable around others, and he was better at handling insults than praise. It spoke volumes about the kind of treatment he was used to. Hearing him say it out loud though made Rick’s heart ache. How anyone could fail to see the endless value of Daryl Dixon, he would never understand. Rick had seen it right away. Underneath his spitfire attitude and antisocial behavior, Daryl was everything good about mankind. He was the kind of person that made life worth living, even when most the world had gone to shit. 

Then Daryl said, “Tha’s how it was, most my life. ’Til I met you,” and Rick’s heart doubled its normal pace. He looked at Daryl. His body rocked back and forth nervously, once, two times before Rick noticed it and stilled himself. He clenched his hands tighter and watched as the skin in his fingertips turn white.

“Me?” he asked, and his voice sounded hopeful, but positively breakable, too. 

It made Daryl huff out a short laugh. “You don’t gotta sound so surprised.” He looked up at him from under his tousled locks with a small smile. “You’re my best friend, Rick,” he said, and the words were sweet like honey. They tasted every bit as raw and syrupy as that sentence Rick heard on repeat for weeks, “I’ve wanted you for so long.” These words were just as true. They were loaded with the same honest emotion that made Rick’s blood race fast through his body. And Rick couldn’t help but think that a man calling him a friend should not speak directly to his poor, addled soul in this way. It made his body hum with a desire that was so much more than friendly.

Rick caught Daryl’s eyes and said fiercely, “You’re my best friend too.” It felt a lot like a confession of love, and Rick supposed that in some ways, it was. Friendship was a part of his feelings for Daryl—perhaps the largest of them all. It was, at least, the part with the deepest roots. A solid foundation that the rest of it was built upon. 

Daryl was nervous under the intensity of Rick’s gaze, but he didn’t look away. He held steady and said, crystal clear into that quiet night, “It’s different with you. Better. I said I never really liked my brother. It’s true. We were close ‘cause we were blood. We had responsibility to one another. With you, it ain’t like that. There’s no reason for it. We’re close for the sake of being close. ’N’ I like you. I think you’re a good man.” Then he looked away before he could see the blush creep up onto Rick’s face. Daryl took a swig from the wine bottle and passed it back to Rick, figuring that he’d be needing it. Rick took it and drank like it could drown his jitters. The bottle was more empty than full by now, and Rick knew he should stop. The garden around them was blurred at the edges of his vision, and his head swayed with every movement. Daryl though was even worse off, if the way he kept burying his face in his hands was any indication. Rick pulled his mouth off the bottle and offered it back to Daryl.

“I’m drunk,” Rick announced, by way of explanation. Daryl shook his head and waved it away. 

“Me too,” he mumbled, his head finding its way back to his hands.

Rick set the bottle aside and turned back to face Daryl. The day they’d had, the intimate conversation, all drenched in a hearty dose of wine, was the perfect recipe for dangerous decisions. Rick figured it was about time he push this fragile thing and see how far it would bend. He leaded forward and rested his forehead against Daryl’s shoulder. It was the first move Rick had made to touch Daryl since his clear instructions not to, back at the prison fence-line. Daryl grunted in surprise and pulled his head up from his hands to look at Rick from the corner of his eye. He made no move to push him away, and Rick was glad because Daryl’s shoulder was sturdy and grounding. He made the world spin a little less, and the fabric of his shirt was soft and smelled like his cologne. Rick nuzzled against him and hummed low in his throat. Daryl blew a quick breath through his nose, and though Rick couldn’t see it from this angle, he knew that Daryl was smiling. 

So, Rick decided to take another chance and said, “It’s different for me, too. I’ve been close with plenty of people. I dunno if I could even name ‘em all. But none of ‘em have been as good as you. You and I have got somethin’ different.”

Daryl drew in a shaky breath. “Yeah?” he asked. Rick felt Daryl’s knuckles brush over his thigh. Daryl’s boldness caught him off guard, and it sent a current of electricity shooting through him. His cock twitched in his pants, and Rick almost wanted to laugh. Daryl could pull the attention of his whole body with the softest graze of his fingers. It was almost criminal the effect this man had on him. Rick couldn’t help but wonder if he held a similar power over Daryl. He reached out a hand until his fingertips collided with Daryl’s outer thigh. Gently, he drug his fingers down the gentle curve of it until his hand hit the cold stone of the fountain. He pulled his fingers away and he heard a wistful sigh escape from Daryl before it was quickly cut short. Rick’s heart fluttered. His body burned. He needed more. The two of them would die under this pressure. It was crushing the air out of them.

“Yeah,” Rick said. His silky voice sounded perfectly placed among the fountain’s steady trickle and their paired breathing. And sitting there, side-by-side with Daryl, breathing in his rich scent and feeling the warmth of his body against his face, Rick felt the last of his defenses slip away. Suddenly, he wasn’t interested in keeping anything from Daryl. He didn’t see the point any longer, because really, Daryl knew what Rick was thinking already. He always knew. So Rick smiled and said, “We’ve been different from the beginning. Before that, even. You and I, we fit. We can talk without words. With ‘em, too. I never was much good at communicatin’ myself. But we’re synched up. You make it easy. Sometimes I wonder, where would I be if I never found you? Because now that I have, I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

“You’d be fine without me,” Daryl said.

“I wouldn’t. You’ve made all the difference. Without you, I’m a fraction of the man I am now. I need you. I trust you. I respect you. I would _die_ for you, Daryl. I would do _anything_ —”

“Stop,” Daryl hissed. He pulled away from Rick and let him fall forward before he caught himself and pulled back, too. Rick put a bit of distance between them when he moved back, and Daryl had done the same, so now they were painfully far away from one another. Rick was sick with sudden snowstorm forming between them, familiar, and unwelcome. Daryl buried his face in his hands again and started rocking where he sat. “ _Fuck_ ,” he said through clenched teeth. He rubbed at his face furiously and said it again, low and menacing, even louder than before, “ _Fuck_.”

“Tell me,” Rick pleaded. This was it—they’d hit Daryl’s wall. This was Rick’s opportunity to get at the information he so desperately needed. Thankfully, Daryl didn’t fight Rick. He started talking at a mile a minute, like he couldn’t spit the words out fast enough.

“What we’ve got is so good, Rick. It’s so damn good, and I’m going to _ruin_ it,” Daryl said. 

“How will you ruin it?” Rick asked. His voice was measured. His body was still. He watched Daryl as he rocked back and forth and trembled like a rubber band stretched to it’s breaking point.

“My head ain’t right. You say that kind of stuff, and I start thinkin’ the worst shit. Disgusting shit. _God_ , I don’t deserve you. I was never meant to have a friend as good as you, Rick. Guys like me don’t get nice things. I don’t know who the fuck I was kidding—”

“Daryl—”

“—with the fuckin’ clothes and the watch and _you_. It’s all bullshit, ‘cause I ruin anything worth anything, and this means the fuckin’ _world_ , Rick. I’m such a good for nothin’ piece of _trash_ and I’m gonna destroy it, and there ain’t nothing that I can—”

“ _Daryl_.”

Daryl whimpered pathetically and stopped his rocking along with his self-depreciating tirade. He kept his head in his hands, his eyes to the ground beneath his feet. His trembling kept up and Rick had to fight the urge to pull him in and still his terrified body. Instead, he held still and said, calm and with authority, “When I say those things, what does it make you think?”

Daryl whimpered again. He shook his head madly and rubbed at his face. He looked up and turned his head away so that Rick couldn’t see his expression. “I know it ain’t right. I’m sorry, man. I’m so sorry.”

“What does it make you think?” Rick asked once more. 

Daryl heaved a dreadful sigh and shook his head. They were quiet for a long time. Minutes passed, and Rick waited patiently for Daryl to find it in himself to say the things he needed to. But when enough time had come and gone that Rick began to doubt that Daryl would speak at all, he scooted closer to Daryl and said, “Look at me.”

Daryl’s eyes flew up to meet Rick’s immediately, and Rick smiled at him in a way that showcased every bit of adoration he held in his heart. It made Daryl groan and look away, back to the ground at his feet. Rick cleared his throat to pull Daryl’s attention back up, and when his skittish eyes met Rick’s confident ones, Rick said, “There’s nothin’ you can say to me that will make me care for you any less. Tell me what you’re thinking. Not because I oughta know, but because I’d like to.”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. Rick reached forward so that his fingertips touched the outside of Daryl’s thigh, same as before, the barest amount of pressure just above the seam down the side of his jeans. But this time Rick didn’t pull away. He let his hand linger, a reminder of his presence, a promise that he wasn’t going anywhere. Daryl seemed to ease under Rick’s touch. His breathing slowed, his body stopped shaking, and he lifted his head, if only slightly. 

He took in a deep breath. “I—” he started, but the words died in his throat. Rick pushed his fingertips a little harder against Daryl’s thigh, a silent encouragement to keep going. Daryl swallowed hard and tried again. “Ever since I met you at the—at the quarry—I—” Rick pushed his fingers up so that the lengths of his fingers joined the tips where they were touching Daryl. The movement pushed his hand up, closer to the top of Daryl’s thigh, and it made Daryl swallow thickly around his labored speech. “I liked ya right away. Wanted to impress ya. Wanted ya to like me. My whole life, I never really gave a fuck ‘bout what anyone thought ‘bout me, but with you, I knew I couldn't take it if you hated me the same as all the others. And the crazy thing was, you didn’t. It seemed like—like right from the start, you didn’t mind me at all. Even if I was a loudmouth, no-good redneck. Everyone else in that camp looked at me like I was trouble. You looked at me like I was worth somethin’.” He cleared his throat and shook his head. “I kept waitin’ for the ball to drop. I figured one day you’d look at me and realize what everyone else always knew. But that day never came. If anything, it was the opp’site. As time went on, ya started lookin’ at me better ’n’ better. These days, I can’t even fuckin’ _believe_ the way ya look at me. Like I shit gold and sing gospel.”

Rick hummed approvingly, low in his throat, and pressed his palm into Daryl. He let his whole hand sit there, firm against Daryl’s leg, reveling in the heat of his body and the way Daryl pushed back against him, chasing the touch like it wasn’t nearly enough. Rick agreed. Having Daryl’s words swim through his brain made his body, his _soul_ , vibrate with desire. He needed to close the distance between them, kiss those tender lips and swallow those honeyed words like the heart-healing ambrosia they were. But Daryl had more to say, so Rick held stone still. All except for his hand against Daryl’s thigh, which he balled up with the slow drag of his fingers before splaying them out again. Daryl shuttered under the touch and sighed through his nose. His thumbnail went up to his mouth and he chewed at it. He dropped his hand away when he was ready to speak again.

“Then at the farm, it turned into more than all that. I didn’t just want ya to like me, I wanted to be yer _favorite_.” Daryl scoffed at himself. “Sounds so fuckin’ dumb. But that’s the way it was. I hated Shane. I hated Lori. I was tryin’ to get yer attention, but they had all of it. I didn’t even know how to go ‘bout it, anyhow. But I still hated them. ‘Cause they had what I wanted, and they didn’t give a damn. It was like you were nothin’ to ‘em, and I couldn’t wrap my fuckin’ head ‘round it, ‘cause you were—you were _everything_ to me. Still are.” Daryl let out a short, pitiful laugh. It sounded broken and bitter, Rick wanted so badly to say something to ease the pain, but he didn’t dare interrupt. He pressed his hand forward, rounded it over to the top of Daryl’s thigh, and squeezed the flesh reassuringly, but it only made Daryl repeat that same gut-wrenching chuckle. He shook his head and pressed on: “I knew it wasn’t the same for you. It wasn’t ’til Shane lost it that you gave me more than a second glance. Even then, it wasn’t anywhere near the same. It was just ‘bout business. Gettin’ things done. I was willin’ to be yer yes-man. I was willin’ to be yer anything. By then I knew I wasn’t thinkin’ right, but there wasn’t nothin’ I could do to stop it. You’d already won me over, and it only got worse the more time I spent with ya.” 

He was so close! If Daryl kept up this way, it was only a matter of time before he admitted something that toppled them over the edge and into new territory. Rick leaned in and surged his hand forward until his fingertip came around the other side and grazed the seam of Daryl’s jeans on his inner thigh. The advancement won a visible, full body shiver from Daryl, and Rick’s heart hammered loudly in his chest. Was Daryl’s heartbeat erratic like Rick’s? Was his body burning with the same demanding fire? Was his brain swirling with thoughts about fast moving hands and desperate, heated kisses? Daryl gulped and turned his head up to night sky above him. He ran a rough hand over his face and dropped his gaze back to his shoes.

“Those months on the run was when I realized how fucked I was. There was this one day that I almost died—shit, you probably don’t even remember it, I almost died a million fuckin’ times—but this one was real bad. It was that day the walker got me by the belt, from behind. Ya shot it the second ya saw it, but…god, I was so fuckin’ scared, Rick. In a way I’d never been scared ‘fore. Once you killed it, ’n’ pulled it off o’ me, I sat there on the ground, ’n’ I couldn’t stop fuckin’ laughin’ ‘cause all I could think ‘bout was how I didn’t wanna die—‘cause it meant spendin’ no more time with you. I laughed like a fuckin’ loon ‘cause I realized that you were the reason I was alive. ‘Cause ya saved me so many damn times for one thing, but also ‘cause you were the only reason I had to _wanna_ live. And you stared at me while I laughed, like ya were tryin’ to figure out if I’d finally lost it er _what_ , but I kept on goin’ ‘cause all I was thinkin’ was, ‘Damn, am I fucked. This guy’s my whole fuckin’ world and he don’t even know it.’ You had no damn clue. And I knew that whatever I meant to you, it would never come close to matchin’ what you meant to me.” 

“Daryl—” Rick said, his hand squeezing the inside of Daryl’s thigh. 

“Don’t say nothin’. I ain't never admitted none of this shit before. Not even...not even ta myself. Gotta let me get through tellin' it,” said Daryl. Rick swallowed and nodded. He ran his thumb in little circles against the seam on Daryl pants. Daryl sighed with clenched eyes and a furrowed brow. The encouragement from Rick’s thumb and his attentive silence pulled Daryl along, and after a few minutes of strained anticipation, he went on.

“Then we found the prison. By then, I’d been done in a thousand times by those fuckin’ eyes of yers, lookin’ at me the way they do. Every time I saw ya I'd get this feelin' in my gut. The kind ya get when ya think there's another step on the stairs, but there ain't? Like when ya put yer foot down, but there ain't ground where ya 'xpect it ta be and it throws everythin' in ya off-kilter. I tried to ignore it—I tried every damn day. Sometimes I could, and that's when things were best. But other times, you'd do somethin' or say somethin' and that feelin' would be back, and my head would go these places that—that—that I couldn't stop it from goin'. And that’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout Rick, when I say that I’m thinkin’ wrong. ‘Cause you’re sittin’ beside me, goin’ on ‘bout friendship, and jesus, I love what we’ve got. I never wanna ruin it, but I swear to god I will, ‘cause I’m sick in the head, and I’m thinkin’ stuff a man shouldn’t think ‘bout his best friend.” 

Rick’s heart fluttered wildly in his chest, like a hummingbird drunk on sugar water. There it was! Daryl’s confession: the sweet, sweet goodness that Rick thought he’d never taste again. It was so good, so fucking intoxicating, Rick had to drag a little bit more out of his timid love. Rick leaned in and put his mouth up to Daryl’s ear as his hand crept further up, edging closer to that beautiful destination between Daryl’s legs. He whispered against his ear with a pure, sensual energy that Rick had discovered within himself only since that first night with Daryl. He said, “And why shouldn’t you think it?” 

Daryl huffed through his nose, but then Rick’s hand crept even further up Daryl’s quivering thigh until it was barely two inches from that warm mountain, and Daryl whined low in his throat. His eyes had fallen closed. His breathing was labored. From the way Daryl’s body was tensed up, his hips twitching every so often like their owner was barely able to reign in their demand for movement, Rick could tell that Daryl was hard in those tight black jeans. 

“Why shouldn’t you think it?” he asked again, hot against Daryl’s ear. He moved in closer so that his lips ghosted over the lobe of his ear with each word. It made Daryl gasp, soft and restrained.

“ _Fuck_ , Rick, I—” Daryl said. He sounded debauched, and it elicited a sigh from Rick, one so heavy, it was nearly a moan. Daryl did his best to continue on: “It ain’t natural, it’s—it’s—”

“Feels like the most natural thing in the world, to me. So natural, I fell right into it,” Rick said against Daryl’s ear, his lips against the Daryl’s skin so that he was kissing it with every word. 

“It ain’t right! It’s _queer_ , Rick. It ain’t right that I think these things ‘bout you. You don’t gotta—” Rick ran his hand down Daryl’s inner thigh and back up. It made Daryl’s hips buck up off the stone fountain. “ _Jesus christ,_ ya have to stop! Ya don’t gotta touch me like this just ‘cause I want ya to.”

“What about what I want, Daryl?” Rick said against his ear. He took up the cartilage lightly between his teeth and Daryl’s hand flew up to grab onto Rick’s bicep. He dug his fingernails in and groaned as Rick closed his lips around the lobe and sucked. 

“Ya don’t—want me,” Daryl said. 

Rick released his ear from the wet confines of his mouth and ran his tongue along its edge. He kissed the rim before pulling back. “I don’t?” he asked playfully. He pressed his lips against the skin on Daryl’s neck, just behind his ear. “I remember sayin’ I _did_ , on that night back at the prison. Was my hard cock not enough to convince you the first time ‘round? ‘Cause if you need further proof that I’m attracted to you, Exhibit B is right here.” Rick ran his hand over his crotch, and Daryl’s eyes flew down to watch him do it. As he palmed himself through his jeans, he inched his hand on Daryl’s thigh even higher, until there was no space left between his wandering hand and Daryl’s hardened cock. One thrust of Daryl’s hips, and Rick would be cupping that glorious bulge in the palm of his hand. 

Rick pulled his hand away from his clothed erection because, as good as the pressure felt, he was concerned only with Daryl. He pressed his lips against Daryl’s neck again, lower than before. Daryl craned his neck back and moaned—a low, rumbling sound that rattled in his chest—and it was enough encouragement that Rick opened his mouth against him and ran his tongue over the sweat-coated skin. He sucked at the spot gently as he ran his hand up and down the length of Daryl’s inner thigh. Everything he did left Daryl reeling. The way his whole body responded to Rick’s touch, despite the insistent protests of his mind, was mind-numbingly delicious. A few seconds under Rick’s hands and mouth was all it took for Daryl to transform into a barely-controlled, panting disaster. 

Still, he made another attempt to protest. “It ain’t the same,” he choked out between strangled gasps, and that stalled Rick. He pulled back and looked at Daryl seriously. Daryl looked back at him, wide eyes, pupils blown, chest heaving. Rick reached out, grabbed Daryl by the back of the neck, and brought their foreheads together. For a while, they sat that way: eyes closed, touching, but just barely, listening to their irregular, sex-crazed breathing echoing through the garden, and it felt like they were the only people in the whole damn world. Rick smiled and asked, “Are you really going to pretend that you don’t know I’m in love with you?”

Daryl took a sharp breath in through his nose as if that was the last thing he’d ever expected Rick to say, and Rick couldn’t help but chuckle softly. “You know,” he said, “You go on and on ‘bout how I’m clueless, but you’re not any better. I spend our whole first date flirtin’ with you, givin’ you dopey looks every other second, and then you go and have the nerve to say it’s not the same. You know that it is, honey. You _gotta_ know by now.”

Daryl swallowed. “…Date?” he asked.

Rick laughed. His smile grew even wider. “Yes, Daryl, a date. I promised you, didn’t I?” 

Daryl pulled his head back, and Rick did the same. They were face to face, only a few inches of space between them. Daryl licked his lips and his eyes darted away, then back, away, then back again. Rick could feel Daryl’s breath against his mouth with his every exhale. He said with a tremor in his voice, “So you—you—”

“I’m in love with you, Daryl Dixon.” 

Daryl gasped softly and bit down on his lip hard. His eyes were bright, a bonfire of emotion: love, primarily, but hope and trust and desire were all there, too, burning side-by-side. Rick’s heart pounded. The look in Daryl’s eyes was just for him. Nobody has been, or would ever be, so lucky as him. 

“Tell me,” Rick said. It was heaven to see it dancing in Daryl’s eyes, but Rick needed to hear it, too. A final check, to ensure that the last of Daryl’s walls had been torn down and that there was nothing left to hold them back anymore. 

Daryl looked at him dumbly. “Tell you what?” he asked. 

Rick smirked and said, “You know. Tell me. I want to hear it.”

Realization settled over Daryl once he realized what was being asked of him. His eyes jumped across Rick’s face, looking for any indication of deceit, but of course he found none. There was nothing but honest veneration staring back at him. When Daryl finally said the words, they tumbled from his lips effortlessly.

“I love ya, Rick.”

Rick’s eyes darkened. “That’s it,” he said, and he crushed their lips together. 

At the first moment of contact, both of them breathed heavily out their nose—a relieved sigh for the desirable end to the long-built tension between them. For a few seconds, it was only that: a brutal, close-mouthed kiss that was initiated and maintained out of necessity rather than pleasure. Rick _needed_ his mouth against Daryl’s, and Daryl was pressing back with the kind of painful force that communicated, “I need this, too.” But it wasn’t long before their need shifted into something more, and Rick was moving his hand over Daryl’s leg and Daryl was grumbling in his throat because their mouths simply touching wasn’t enough anymore. Rick held steady though, and to his delight, it was Daryl who guided them forward. He pulled back from this kiss, until the pressure was gone and it was only a delicate brush of lips, and then he let his mouth fall open. 

Rick’s heart leapt into his throat and he locked his mouth against Daryl’s at an angle that allowed for their mouths to move against one another properly. Rick slipped his tongue into the warmth of Daryl’s mouth, and their tongues interlocked in a hurried embrace. They kissed with the kind of intense passion Rick wouldn’t have thought either of them capable of a few months ago. Yet there they were: they had brought this quality (like so many others) out in one another. The needy sounds Daryl was making, along with every wet slide of their mouths, was coaxing Rick to do something that rationally, he knew he shouldn’t.

It wasn’t traditional to do this on the first date. When Rick left the prison that morning, it was not with the intention of ending up at a motel with Daryl, both of them drunk and one step past aroused. But they had, and Daryl was angling his body toward him, holding him by his burgundy-colored dress shirt, their mouths were locked together like they were matching puzzle pieces, and honestly, Rick was only a man. How could he resist the promise of something so sweet? So he pushed his hand up the rest of the way and let it settle firmly over the tent in Daryl’s jeans. 

Their kiss broke with a slick pop and Daryl said through grated teeth, “ _Fuck_.” Rick groaned his appreciation and drug his palm over that perfect place. Daryl’s hips bucked on their own accord, and his hands flew to Rick’s hair. They knotted themselves there, as if it would help keep him grounded while Rick’s hand increased the pressure of its slow, controlled movements, like it was in the business of making Daryl lose his mind. And maybe Rick was, because seeing Daryl come undone underneath his touch was the hottest thing imaginable. His own cock was solid and leaking under the oppressive layers of clothing confining it, and all over again, Rick was floored by how lucky he was to have Daryl this way. 

Rick pressed his forehead against Daryl’s and said those perfect words: “I’ve wanted you for so long.” He should have said it back on that first night together, but saying it now was the next best thing, because it made Daryl gasp and his hips rise under Rick’s unyielding palm and he pressed their lips together again like Rick’s kiss would save his life. Rick picked up the pace of his hand on Daryl’s cock and let Daryl kiss his lips again and again, his hands tugging Rick in closer by the grip on his hair. Rick flicked his tongue over Daryl’s bottom lip to tempt that beautiful mouth open, but Daryl pulled back suddenly and whispered against Rick’s lips, “I’m gonna cum.”

Heat flooded Rick’s body. He pulled his hand away from Daryl’s cock, quick, before he could talk himself out of it. The loss of contact made Daryl whine and he pulled back to look at Rick, eyes pleading with him. 'Please don’t tell me this is the end—I couldn’t bear it,' he said without words, and Rick kissed his lips chastely to assuage his worries. 

“Not yet. I’d like to taste you, honey. If you’ll let me,” Rick said. Every word was loaded with unrestrained infatuation. Daryl’s grip in Rick’s hair tightened and he nodded vigorously, his bottom lip held so hard under his teeth, the skin could break. Rick pulled his lip free and kissed its swollen tenderness sweetly. Then Rick stood, reoriented himself so that he was standing in front of Daryl where he sat on the garden’s fountain, and dropped to his knees.

Daryl closed his eyes. His brow was scrunched and his lip back in the violent grip of his teeth. Rick put his hands on Daryl’s thighs and pulled him over, adjusting him so that his legs were spread on either side of Rick’s kneeling body. Daryl opened his eyes to peek at Rick, sitting there nestled between his legs, running his hands up and down the length of his legs, and immediately closed them again. 

“God, Rick, I ain’t gonna last,” he said. 

Rick chuckled. He pushed his open hands with splayed fingers up Daryl’s thighs, from the knee until he hit his belt. Once his fingertips touched that worn leather, he traced the line of it inward from both sides to the metal buckle in the center. He tugged at it teasingly. “How long’s it been?” Rick asked.

“Years. Fuck, _decades_.”

Rick hummed thoughtfully. He pulled at the leather so that it slipped through the loop. Daryl raised his hips to make the job easier for him, so Rick gave a little more and carefully unfastened the metal latch. “You’ve been waitin’ on me too long,” he said. Daryl’s head dropped back and he groaned. His fingers were gripping onto the fountain’s edge. It was the only thing keeping his body steady under Rick’s nimble fingers. Rick pulled the leather out of the metal clasp and tugged the belt free from its loops. Daryl shuddered and chanced a glance down at Rick. He smiled up at him as he tossed the belt aside and started on his pants. He pulled the button of his jeans free as Daryl watched his hands with blown eyes and gasping breaths. As soon as Rick’s fingers landed on Daryl’s zipper, Daryl bucked his hips again and whimpered.

“Fuck, Rick, if ya don’t get a move on, I ain’t gon make it,” he said. Daryl’s words jolted Rick. He dropped his head. His cock ached, and he couldn’t resist the urge to palm at it through his pants, once, twice, three times. He breathed hard through his nose as he attempted to reign in his own need. At this rate, he wouldn’t make it either. 

“Pull ‘em down, honey. Let me see you,” he said.

Daryl scrambled to comply with Rick’s instructions. He yanked his zipper down, lifted his hips, and pushed his pants and underwear halfway down his thighs in one fluid motion. In the process, his cock sprang free of it’s entrapment and Daryl hissed when the hot flesh met the cold, nighttime air. 

Rick licked his lips at the sight of it. He’d never seen it bare before, not like this—red, leaking steadily from the tip, twitching in anticipation of Rick’s tongue and lips and throat—it made Rick’s whole body flush. He looked up at Daryl. Daryl was sitting there on the fountain’s edge, looking back at Rick with wide, disbelieving eyes, like he still couldn’t believe that Rick was real. Then Rick took up the base of his dick in his gentle grasp, and Daryl’s eyes fluttered closed. 

Rick didn’t have any idea what he was doing, but he was unafraid. His desire to taste the sweet nectar pooling at the head of Daryl’s cock overrode any hesitation. He leaned in and lapped it up. Daryl squirmed under his tongue. Rick let the flavor of it spread through his mouth. It was rich and salty, and Rick was overwhelmed with how good it was because god, that was _Daryl_ coating his tastebuds. He groaned and it made Daryl groan, too. Rick worked his hand over Daryl’s length, an encouragement for Daryl to make more of those perfect noises. 

“Look at me,” Rick whispered. Daryl eyes flew open. He looked at Rick stroking his cock, his face only inches from it, and he shook his head and closed his eyes again. 

“Can’t,” he choked out.

“Please?” Rick asked. When Daryl shook his head again, Rick pressed further. “I wanna look in your eyes when I swallow you down,” he said.

Daryl huffed and opened his eyes again. He looked right at Rick, though his heaving chest and shaking body admitted that it took considerable effort to maintain the eye contact. Unblinkingly, they looked at each other as Rick lowered his head down and wrapped his lips around the head of Daryl’s cock. 

Daryl’s mouth fell open, and an honest to god, unsuppressed moan escaped. It was a vision to see him make that sound with his eyes focused so fiercely on Rick. Rick looked right back at him, the same fire burning bright in his own eyes, as he suctioned his lips around the head and lapped at it with an enthusiastic tongue. Daryl’s body tensed up more with every flick of Rick’s tongue against his flesh. He was losing control, fast. Rick forced his head down, bit by bit, taking a little more of Daryl’s cock with each push. His hand moved continuously up and down Daryl’s shaft, from the base up to his lips, so that no part of Daryl was neglected. 

When he couldn’t possibly maintain it any longer, Daryl broke the eye contact and let his head roll back. He was moaning with every delicious pull of Rick’s lips and hand. The sounds were driving Rick wild. He palmed at his own cock, regretting that he didn’t take himself out before he started. He was approaching climax right alongside Daryl, and he couldn’t help making his own noises. They originated deep in his body and died in his throat as his head bobbed over Daryl’s length. The moans vibrated around Daryl’s thickness, and enticed him to moan even louder, and in tandem with Rick. 

It wasn’t long before Daryl’s hands were scrambling for Rick’s hair to tug him off. Rick swatted him away and dove back down to continue with his task, but Daryl choked out, “Stop, Rick, I’m gonna cum.” 

Rick pulled off with a pop, but his hand kept up its stroking while his mouth was occupied. He said, out of breath but with no shortage of enchanted energy, “That’s the point, honey. I want you to cum. Down my throat.” Then he lowered his head and swallowed down as much as he could of Daryl’s cock. 

Daryl made a sound that was far too high-pitched for a man of his size and stature, but Rick didn’t mind. If anything, it brought him closer to release, as he picked up rubbing at his own cock. Knowing that he could break down Daryl Dixon this way—turn him into a whimpering, writhing mess of muscle and power—was the most pleasurable piece of it all. Daryl’s hands tightened in Rick’s hair, but now he made no effort to pull him away. He followed along with Rick’s purposeful movements, up and down, up and down his cock, enjoying that perfect sensation until his body went rigid and he was shooting into the wet heat of Rick’s mouth. 

Daryl gasped through it, his body twitching as he released, and it was then, with his palm hard against his own dick that Rick came too, moaning around a mouthful of Daryl’s sweet flesh and sticky honey. Rick carried them though the orgasm, working them over with his hands and his mouth until they were both soft and spent. 

Rick pulled off of Daryl slowly, licked his lips, and looked up him. Daryl looked back at Rick, looking uncharacteristically sated and at ease. He shook his head and laughed, running his fingers through Rick’s untamed curls. He turned his eyes toward the sky, but even from his place on his knees in front of Daryl, he could see the smile that formed on his lips. 

“Fuck, Rick,” he said to the moon and stars above them. Rick smiled and pressed a kiss to Daryl’s thigh. Then Daryl looked back down, and said, “Come on, it’s your turn.”

Rick looked up at him sheepishly. “I kinda beat you to the punch on that one.” Daryl furrowed his brow and stood, pulling Rick up to his feet along with him. He pulled his pants up quickly, then he put his hand on Rick’s cock and squeezed, only to find that he was indeed, wet and softening. Rick hissed at the contact.

“You came?” he asked.

Rick blushed and nodded. “Couldn’t help it, with the way you were goin’ on.”

Daryl laughed incredulously and pressed his lips against Rick’s. There was no urgency behind it. The kiss was nothing but overwhelming love and happiness. Rick matched every ounce of Daryl’s emotion with his own. When they parted, they rested their foreheads against one another. Rick put his hands on Daryl’s hips, and Daryl wrapped his arms around Rick’s waist. They stood that way, wrapped up in each other, illuminated by the golden glow of the lanterns, the garden of that apartment complex quiet except for the water in the fountain and their deep, melodic breathing that had synched up with one another.

“I don’t got any sort of business bein’ this happy,” Daryl said. 

And Rick said right back to him, “I’m gonna spend my whole life provin’ to you that ain’t true.”

So Daryl kissed him like they were both made of fire, and they didn’t stop, even as tears rolled down their cheeks and make their lips slick and salted. They kissed their way through it, because they were the answer to each other’s problems. There was mutual understanding now; they both knew that it was always meant to be like this. Just them, Rick and Daryl, a million different ways over a million different lives. This was only one version of it, but it was _their_ version, so of course they thought it was the very best. 

That night, they found a bed to fall in at the converted apartment complex. They stripped each other and laid down together, a tangled mess of limbs and lazy kisses. They drifted off into a deep, dream-filled sleep, and though Rick thought that he oughta be nervous for tomorrow morning, because who knew what Daryl would be thinking, he couldn’t find it in himself to worry while Daryl’s arm was draped across his chest, their legs tied up together, his breath warm against Rick’s shoulder. There was no room for doubt anymore. And if Rick _had_ managed to find it in himself to doubt, he would have discovered it to be a waste of energy because the next morning, when Daryl woke and found himself laid out next to Rick, he looked at him with that same fire as the night before. Rick leaned in and touched his lips against Daryl’s, and Daryl tangled his fingers in Rick's hair, arched up into him, and kissed back with a passion so dizzying it made Rick feel wine-drunk all over again. And as if Rick needed any more proof than that, later that morning when they were getting dressed, Daryl picked up his watch from where Rick had left it atop the bed’s nightstand and clasped it on his wrist unceremoniously. Then, he turned around and saw Rick watching him with shining eyes and a mesmerized smile. Daryl smirked and shrugged his shoulder.

He said, “I figure I’m gonna have ta get used ta havin’ nice things.”


End file.
